


I've Had No Love Like Your Love

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale owns a bookshop, Crowley is a massage therapist, Crowley is a mess, Crowley is a stripper, Domestic Violence, Drug Use, Fluff, Human AU, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, Smut, they're switches bitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 64,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22478125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: Crowley is an exotic dancer and a massage therapistAziraphale... well, he owns a bookshop
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 235
Kudos: 658
Collections: Alternate Omens, Bittersweet Good Omens, Good Omens Human AUs, Most Favs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's come to my attention (Thanks GayDemonicDisaster!) that strip clubs operate differently in the UK than in the US. I am American, and so I've written American strip club scenes into my fic. Yeah, pretend that people tip the dancers like they do here in the US and we'll all just agree to look the other way on those details yes? 
> 
> Thanks as always to my wonderful beta reader emilycare. She is invaluable to my writing process and is constantly providing me with input and suggestions that keep me looking far better than I would without her. 
> 
> Thank you sweetie <3

The club was a bit seedy. Of course, a bit of seediness was unavoidable in a place where men came to ogle other men who took their clothing off on stage while dancing to pumping music. But the place also had a touch of refined class that kept it firmly out of the category of “hole in the wall” or “dive bar.” The stage was lined with blue neon runners and surrounded by mirrors, but the bar was a nice mahogany one, with a handsome barkeep sporting silver streaks in his dark hair, rather than the usual dismissive 22 year old in a tank top that commonly tended bar in places like this. The patrons were middle to upper middle class business men, sitting alone, or groups of friends. Men gathered around the tables in small clumps, gesticulating and yelling at the stage, cackling with laughter, posh drinks with umbrellas on clasped in their well manicured hands. 

Aziraphale did not belong here. He had nothing in common with the patrons or the dancers. Other than the fact that he too was gay of course. But outside of a shared sexual orientation, he felt like a complete and total outsider. His starched, pale blue shirt and velveteen waistcoat, his dress pants and tartan bow tie made him look like a university professor from several decades past. Meanwhile, the other men were clothed in tight black t-shirts and shimmering button downs, pulled tight across muscular chests. Bodies chiseled by hours spent lifting weights in the gym. Their hair was artfully styled in peaks and shaggy layers with the use of products sold in posh little tins for way too much money. 

Quite a few were very young. Beautiful creatures with creamy skin and sparkling eyes, with tight, slender bodies showcased perfectly by silky dress shirts or tight tank tops. Aziraphale found them simultaneously sexually appealing and terrifying. Men such as these had never given him the time of day before. At university, a few decades ago now, they’d walked past him as if he were invisible. And he supposed he had been. A plump underclassman, so pale he bordered on albinism, dressed in harmless cardigans and baggy trousers that hid his body. He’d always shot them cautious, hopeful looks from beneath his lashes as they passed, taking in their broad shoulders and gleaming hair and white teeth between smiling lips. These perfect boys who never glanced at him twice. 

And now, here he was, watching them undulate on stage. Watching them sip at cosmopolitans and appletinis and Manhattans while they screeched and giggled with each other and waxed rhapsodic about the dancers. The room was filled with unattainable, half naked men, and Aziraphale was just as plump and unremarkable as he’d been as a young student. Only he wasn’t young anymore. His fiftieth had come and gone recently without much fanfare. His eyes were now lined with a fine network of wrinkles. His low back ached on cold mornings. He felt the opposite of sexy, and this place, this throbbing, sparkling club, filled to the brim with gorgeous men wasn’t helping him feel any younger or more appealing. 

He put aside his own, well worn self esteem issues and focused on trying to look relaxed, as he sat perched at a little round table, on a little round stool that was not quite wide enough to fully accommodate his buttocks, and waited for Anathema to show up. He silently cursed his friend’s habit of showing up twenty minutes late for everything, and then cursed his own inability to do anything but show up twenty minutes early. He supposed though, that they were both creatures of habit, only at least _he_ got places on time. 

He adored Anathema. She was a new friend. A young woman who owned the witchy shop two doors down from his bookshop in Soho. They’d struck up a casual friendship when she’d come round to look at the books he’d put out for sale on a collapsible table on the pavement outside the shop. He’d done so, secretly hoping people would simply buy the discounted books he found useless (romance novels, spy novels, boring autobiographies) and would stay away from the treasures he kept inside on the shelves. She’d strode in with a lurid and ridiculous looking romance novel one day, several months ago. 

“How much for the pornograpny?” She’d asked with a grin, drawing back a little when she saw Aziraphale flinch at her use of the word. 

“That my dear, is not pornography,” Aziraphale had sniffed. “Pornography at least makes a person feel _something_. That however,” he indicated with a wave of his hand in the offending book’s direction “is pure drivel. You can have it for three pounds if you like.” 

“Drivel huh?” He noticed she had an American accent, faintly tinged at the edges with something else. Spanish? Portugues? “For your information, many romance novelists are quite talented writers. Don’t let the subject matter fool you.”

They’d chatted amiably for a few minutes about the history of romantic fiction, and as she’d turned to leave, Aziraphale had quickly offered to recommend some _real and true_ romantic novels to encourage her to stay longer. He’d realized he hadn’t had a conversation this engaging in a while, and her bright and lovely face and irreverent sense of humor had pulled him in like a fish with a hook in its mouth. He’d taken her on a brief tour of romance classics, the Bronte sisters, Jane Austin, Charles Dickens and others she’d never heard of. They’d had such a lovely time chatting that she said she’d stop by again another time.

And stop by she did. She came back the very next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. There was always a lull in business at her place in afternoons during the week, and she’d bring her bought lunch and eat (her oat muffin or chickpea salad or whatever vegetarian thing she’d brought), while perched on a stool by his register, balancing her lunch on the only thin swath of countertop not occupied by stacks of books and papers. Aziraphale always brought his own lunch from home (an apartment that sat atop the bookshop). They’d talk animatedly while he ate tupperware containers of thick beef stew or turkey sandwiches or eggs, scrambled with spinach, topped with layers of melted cheese. He’d never been able to bring himself to restrict his eating. He loved food, almost as much as he loved books, and it always felt like a ridiculously unnecessary torture to suffer through pangs of hunger, all in the service of slimming down. He was portly and that was that. Nothing to be done about it at his time of life. 

Through Anathema, he’d met Deirdre and Arthur Young, a married couple who’d come into her shop several times to satisfy their son Adam’s love of the occult and who’d also struck up conversations with her that had bloomed into new friendships. Anathema was good at making friends. Her cheerful nature and warm, lovely smile drew people to her like moths to a flame, and Aziraphale was no different. He accompanied her to dinners at the Young’s residence a few times and had passed enjoyable evenings there, playing word games, laughing and joking over a few too many bottles of wine. It felt good to have close friends again. 

It wasn’t that he was friendless before Anathema came along. Only that he’d been raised by strictly religious parents, had gone to seminary with the intention of becoming a priest. He’d realized very early on that he was gay, and had just as easily recognized that organized religion wasn’t known for forgiving attitudes towards gay men. Still, despite the disrespectful whispers and the muttered slurs and the disapproving looks gay people garnered among his parent’s (and by extension his) congregation, he continued along that path. He pursued the path to priesthood because it’s what his parents had always told him he’d wanted, and for a while, he’d believed them.

Eventually, the spell of the priesthood and organized religion had broken. And to be quite honest, it was the celibacy thing that broke the camel’s back. The thought of remaining celibate for the rest of his life was unbearable. He’d already experimented in secret with a boyhood friend, touching each other out behind the tool shed in Aziraphale’s back garden, and the feelings from those tentative, experimental touches had Aziraphale hungry for more. He’d fooled around with a young man at seminary, hiding, locked in a disabled stall in the men’s lavatory while Aziraphale sank to his knees and sucked the man’s cock into his mouth. These trysts had felt amazing, had felt like coming home, despite the fact that there had been no romantic feelings involved. He only knew that sex with men was what he wanted, and if that were the case, the catholic church would not be able to accept him. 

His dating history was spotty at best, involving hook ups in the parking lots of bars and a few one night stands from a dating site that Aziraphale now carefully avoided looking at. His first real boyfriend, late in life at the age of thirty nine, had been a married man who wanted to see Aziraphale on the side. It had worked well for a few years, until it hadn’t anymore. Aziraphale was in love with Gabriel. Gabriel wasn’t in love back. He valued his reputation as a pillar of his community and a straight man with a lovely wife more than he valued his connection to Aziraphale, and the two had broken apart as a result. Aziraphale had cried his heart out, clutching Gabriel’s sweatshirt to his face, rocking back and forth in his bed like a wounded child. He’d foolishly thought that Gabriel would leave his wife some day and come live with Aziraphale, and after years of hopefully waiting, Gabriel had given him that false smile that didn’t touch his eyes and had told him it was over. 

Next was Lucien. Flashy, cruel Lucien who seemed to think that he was doing Aziraphale a favor by fucking him. Lucien was slick and sexy and sharp at the edges. He had loads of friends and threw great big parties in his great big house. He’d found Aziraphale charming at first. Had called him “my little professor” as he’d pounded Aziraphale into his memory foam mattress and bruised Aziraphale’s lips with hard kisses. But pretty soon, the novelty had worn off. Lucien had started not so subtly suggesting that Aziraphale could do with some more exercise. That maybe he should put down the biscuits, buy some new clothes, stop being so fussy. 

Aziraphale brushed off the criticisms as Lucien being cheeky. The sex was just so good, and Lucien was so handsome, it had clouded Aziraphale’s good sense. Until of course he’d found out that he was far from the only person Lucien was seeing. There were two or three others, all younger and thinner than Aziraphale. That had been the last straw, and Aziraphale had left after a massive row with a hastily packed gym bag of his belongings. 

That break up had been easier than the one with Gabriel. Aziraphale had guarded his heart more, hadn’t put so much of himself into it. But still, it hurt. 

He’d stayed celibate after that, rolling his eyes nowadays at how he’d left religion because he couldn’t bear the idea of celibacy, only to stumble into it anyway. He simply didn’t have the energy or the courage to expose himself to rejection again. And the world accommodated his celibacy beautifully. No eligible bachelors knocked down the store of his shop, no friends tried to fix him up with other friends. He retreated from romantic and sexual life and it did not come after him to drag him back. He tended to his shop, he kept up with a few friends from seminary and wrote weekly letters (old fashioned as he was) to his parents to let them know how his week was going. He went to dinner with the Youngs and Anathema and he read endless books. He was happy, if a bit lonely. 

Now, he sat, waiting for Anathema, who’d insisted that he meet her here because she had someone she had to buy some weed from before they went out for the evening. Aziraphale would normally have said no to such an illicit rendezvous. Meeting his friend in a strip club so that she could buy illegal drugs… it simply wasn’t Aziraphale’s style. But, she’d been insistent, saying that it would take a while and that she didn’t want to cut her evening with him short simply because her drug dealer friend was also an exotic dancer, and that she’d have to wait for his set to finish before they could make this transaction happen. 

“And besides, you’ll like Anthony. He’s funny,” she’d said, as if this were a consolation prize for sitting uncomfortably in a flashy strip club, feeling like an old fuddy duddy in outdated clothes. 

Aziraphale cast his eyes briefly towards the stage and wondered if the man currently undulating up there was the friend Anathema had referred to. The mysterious Anthony. The man was thickly muscled, his blond hair sculpted into spikes, his tight boxer briefs leaving nothing to the imagination as he lazily spun himself around on the pole at the center of the stage. Aziraphale thought he was attractive in a plastic sort of way. 

A flutter of bright fabric out of the corner of his eye resolved itself into Anathema at his elbow. She was dressed in a brocade jacket and a flowing paisley skirt, her hair rippling darkly about her shoulders. Anathema never did seem to have any rhyme or reason to her choice in clothing. She usually dressed like a tinker from a fairytale or a hippy in flowing skirts, silver toe rings on her sandaled feet. They were so very different, and yet they still very much enjoyed each other’s company. 

“Hey you” she chirped, planting a swift kiss to his cheek. He offered her a bright smile, tinged with discomfort. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, plopping down on a stool next to him and waving the waiter over for a drink. 

“Rum and coke please,” she asked the slender young man in a pink corset and tutu who took her order. 

“Anything for you sweetheart?” he asked Aziraphale, giving him a wink with false eyelashes fluttering in a way that made the older man’s cheeks heat. 

“A glass of white. Whatever you have that’s drinkable,” he said, unable to keep the stiffness from his voice. 

“Oh darling, it’s all drinkable, but I’ll see if I can get you something you’ll like.” The lad winked again, expression coloring with sarcasm just a bit, and flounced away on a pair of heels so tall and wobbly that Aziraphale’s ankles ached just looking at them. 

“I’m dreadfully out of place here,” Aziraphale mumbled into Anathema’s ear, attempting to be heard over the pumping music, but not overheard by any of the other patrons. 

“I know Azi. I’m sorry. But it was either meet you here, or meet you two hours later than we’d planned. I need my Aziraphale quality time!” She cooed at him, gripping his upper arm in both of her hands and giving it a squeeze. He instantly forgave her, feeling an indulgent smile break across his face. 

“Or you could have forgone the purchasing of illicit drugs and we could have skipped coming here all together,” he offered, grinning.

“Not an option” she replied with a smirk. “This guy’s shit is just too good to pass up.”

“How do you know this person?” Aziraphale asked incredulously. Anathema was a bit of a wild child, but consorting with stripper drug dealers felt like a stretch, even for her eclectic tastes. 

“We went to school for massage together” she said. 

“I didn’t know you went to school for massage.” Aziraphale was a bit taken aback. She’d never mentioned it before. 

“Yeah. It turned out not to be my thing after all. But Anthony, he’s a wonder. Gives an excellent massage. He only works here part time to help pay the bills. He used to be a professional dancer when he was younger. Now he works at a spa during the days and here in the evenings.” 

“Oh my,” Aziraphale didn’t quite know what to make of this new information. “Is that him up there now?” he asked, jerking his head in the direction of the stage. 

“Nope. He comes on next. I think you’re in for a treat. He’s really good,” Anathema said, looking down to check the time on her cell phone. The waiter returned with their drinks and Aziraphale took the glass of white as Anathema gratefully sipped at her rum and coke through a thin red straw. Up on stage, the blond man had finished his act and had exited the stage to change wardrobe or whatever it is the dancers did backstage. 

Aziraphale was struggling not to be judgemental, but he’d been raised on Masterpiece Theater and Shakespeare and bible stories. These men wore sparkling underwear and pranced about on a stage to pop music. It was a world he’d had precious little experience with, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know more. If he voiced any of this, Anathema would surely call him a “Prude” or “sex negative.” He refrained from commenting and simply sipped his white wine, which wasn’t that bad, truth be told. Better than the vinegary swill he’d had in some less reputable gay bars around the city that he’d frequented in younger years. 

Suddenly, the house lights dimmed and a song, some cheesy sounding rock song from the eighties began to play at a deafening volume from the speakers that flanked the stage. The rhythmic blast of electric guitar riffs as the song picked up speed were familiar to Aziraphale for some reason, until he recognized it as INXS’s _Devil Inside_. He’d caught the song incidentally over the radio for years, but hadn’t heard it in some time. 

_Here come the woman, with the look in her eye_

Michael Hutchins’ velvety, sexy voice spilled out of the sound system as the silver curtains at the back of the stage were thrown open and a figure that could only be Anathema’s mysterious friend Anthony strutted his way on stage. He was tall and very slender, unlike the hyper muscular build of several of the other dancers, and even at this distance, Aziraphale could tell he was closer in age to himself than many of the other men who worked here. He wore skin tight, black leather trousers and a black silk shirt with several of the buttons undone to reveal a swath of his narrow chest. His hair was long and copper and pulled back into a messy bun at the back of his head. His eyes were hidden by dark, round shades. 

_Oh dear,_ thought Aziraphale, feeling his cheeks flush from more than just the sip or two of wine he’d had. 

_Raised on leather, with flesh on her mind_

The slender red haired man strode to the middle of the stage and grabbed onto the pole, throwing himself instantly into a fast spin that defied gravity, his elegant arms and legs cast out like a ballet dancer with one bent knee and one hand gripping the pole to keep him anchored to it while he spun. He came out of the spin, gliding seamlessly into a split, and the audience exploded into cheers and applause. Anthony rolled out of the split up into a handstand that placed him gracefully back on his feet and went back to the pole, climbing up it like a serpent, gripping it with his legs and letting his upper body hang down, spine arching gracefully as he spun. He had the skill and strength of a dancer and the daring flexibility of a high flying tightrope walker or a contortionist. Aziraphale was floored. 

Anathema was clapping and whistling next to him, her face wreathed in a huge smile. At least that’s what Aziraphale saw in the split second he could drag his eyes from the stage and focus on his companion before his gaze was pulled immediately back to the performance.

_Here come the man, fed on nothing, but full of pride_

Anthony ripped open his shirt and shed it from his shoulders with a casual shrug, and Aziraphale felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of that expanse of pale skin, slender arms and narrow waist that were revealed as the shirt fell to the floor. His body was beautiful. And not in the way that bodies on the cover of men’s magazines were beautiful. He was far too thin to be called muscular, even though long, lanky muscles did move pleasingly beneath his pale skin. He had an appendix scar on his lower right abdomen, and a snake tattoo wrapped around his left forearm. Everything about him was long and slender. His hands and fingers, his arms and legs, his torso, his long, sharp featured face beneath the dark lenses. He looked more like an aging rock star than an exotic dancer, but in the best way possible. He was lithe and graceful and slinky and incredibly sexy. 

_Devil inside. The devil inside. Every single one of us, the devil inside_

Aziraphale was aware that Anathema was looking at him, so he turned his head to glance at her, only to see her wink and waggle her eyebrows at him. _I know you’re enjoying this_ , her look said. _I know you fancy him_. Aziraphale scowled at her without malice and swiftly returned his eyes to the stage as Crowley did a back walkover, an impressive maneuver that revealed a tiny but significant bit more of the tempting skin just above the already low waistband of his tight trousers. 

Aziraphale lost himself in watching the performance. Anthony moved with such incredible grace, but at the same time, there was more than a hint of sexuality to his movements. The way he swung his hips as he sauntered from one side of the stage to the other. The way he deliberately and slowly pulled the tie from his copper hair, letting it spill to his shoulders, then ran his fingers through it while looking out into the audience. It was more than a dance. More than just the showcasing of male flesh up on a stage. It was an artful seduction. Looking around at the audience briefly, Aziraphale could see that all the men that sat at surrounding tables were staring at the stage in rapt attention. Faces split into happy grins, and steamy looks. Everywhere around the stage, men reached up with money in their hands, waving it at Anthony. He collected the notes in the most sensual ways possible, kneeling down with legs spread wide so that a patron could fold a few bills into the waistband of his trousers. He went then to the other side of the stage and dropped effortlessly into a pushup position, then slid his lower body off the stage, backwards, standing so that he bracketed another man’s lap, placing his arse just inches from the man’s surprised yet pleased face. The man quickly shoved a wad of bills into the exposed waistband of the back of Anthony’s pants. 

It was over all too quickly as Anthony bowed low, picking up a few more stray five pound notes that had been thrown to the stage, and did another back walkover on his way out, disappearing behind the silver curtains with a wave backwards to the men who surrounded the stage. Aziraphale couldn’t help but add his own enthusiastic applause to that of the men who were clapping and cheering around him. 

“See what I mean?” Asked Anathema, her voice heavily laden with sexual suggestion that Aziraphale chose to ignore. “Isn’t he fantastic?”

“He’s quite talented, yes,” Aziraphale responded, neglecting to mention that the sight of the man’s face and body had made is mouth water and his heart beat double time. “Quite talented indeed.”

Fifteen minutes later, while they’d continued sipping at their drinks and Aziraphale had studiously avoided mentioning Anthony or his performance a second time, they were joined by the man himself. He’d changed into a pair of still indecently tight jeans, but had donned a worn t-shirt with the logo of some unfamiliar band on it and a black jean jacket. His hair was pulled back from his face into a loose pony tail. 

“Anthony Crowley, this is my friend Aziraphale Fell,” Anathema introduced them with a massive smile on her face, looking back and forth between them. Aziraphale suddenly wondered if this were an attempt to hook him up with this person. 

“Hey,” Anthony said without ceremony and grasped Aziraphale’s hand in a tight grip, giving it a polite shake. 

  
“Hello, Anthony. Nice to meet you.” Aziraphale, feeling twice as stuffy and twice as portly in the presence of this lithe, flame haired creature, struggled to remain casual. “That was quite a performance,” he said, hoping he wasn’t being too forward. 

“It’s a living,” Anthony brushed off the compliment with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Glad you liked it,” he added with a shy grin. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he’d expected in meeting Anthony in person. Maybe someone louder, brasher, more flirtatious? But instead, he was gentle voiced and polite. 

“Join us for a drink?” Anathema asked, and to Aziraphale’s sudden and incredible relief, Anthony agreed and pulled up a stool. He hadn’t wanted Anthony to leave just yet, had wanted him to stick around. He found himself wishing he could look the man in the eyes. He was still wearing his dark glasses, even inside the dimly lit club. It was making Aziraphale unaccountably anxious to get a glance at what lay beneath them. 

“You’re in luck tonight Ana,” Anthony said. “I’ve scored some very good stuff for you.” He turned to Aziraphale briefly “you’re not a cop are you?”

Aziraphale was taken aback momentarily. “N-no. I’m not,” he stammered. 

“Don’t scare him, Crowley. He’s not used to being in places like this,” Anathema intervened, placing a hand on the dancer’s arm. 

“Do you go by Crowley or Anthony?” Aziraphale was feeling more than a little off balance.

“My full name’s Anthony J Crowley. But half of my friends call me Crowley. The other half call me Anthony. I’ve tried to get them all on the same page, but it hasn’t worked so far. This one calls me both,” he added with an affectionate smile and a nod in Anathema’s direction.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “What shall I call you then?” he asked 

“Whatever you like.” The man, Anthony? Crowley? was looking at Aziraphale and smiling a sly, lopsided smile. Was that flirtation? It was hard to tell. Aziraphale didn’t know how to respond, so he simply took a nervous gulp of his wine. Anthony turned back to Anathema and the two spoke into each other’s ears for a minute before Anathema told him that the three of them would be adjourning to Anathema’s car, parked out front. They left the club after Anthony graciously paid for their drinks, and walked out into the cool autumn air and got into the car. Anathema in the driver’s seat, Aziraphale in the passenger seat and Anthony in the back. 

Anthony handed Anathema a sweet smelling plastic bag full of marijuana, and Anathema handed him a wad of bills. Soon afterwards, after a bit more pleasant patter, it was time for him to leave. “Always a pleasure,” he said to Anathema. “You’ll have to come down to the spa sometime soon and get a massage, I’ve been learning some new moves.” He grinned broadly. 

“You can count on it,” Anathema replied, returning his grin. “My shoulders are a mess, I could use some work.”

“You too,” Anthony turned his shielded gaze to Aziraphale, “I run a first timer’s special. 20% off for the first massage. You’ll love it.” He fished a tasteful business card in pastel blues and greens out of his back pocket and handed it to Aziraphale, who took it with hesitant fingers. 

“You won’t regret it,” Anathema cooed at him. “He’s a miracle worker.”

“Shush you,” Anthony said as he opened the car door and prepared to exit the vehicle. “See you next week?”

“See you next week, hun. Thanks again!” she chirped as the lanky red haired man levered himself gracefully out of her car and sauntered back to the entrance of the club. Aziraphale watched him go, unsure what was happening inside him as he watched Anthony’s slender form slip through the door and back into the throbbing, flashing interior of the club.

“You’re madly in love with him already aren’t you?” Anathema asked, never one to mince words, as she turned laughing eyes to Aziraphale’s face. 

“What?! No. Of course not! He’s… well, he’s clearly very attractive, but he’s not my type.” This was a bald faced lie. Anthony was _exactly_ Aziraphale’s type, for reasons that he couldn’t quite name in that moment. Something however, maybe how vulnerable his attraction for the man made him feel, had him knee jerk denying his attraction. 

“Whatever.” Anathema rolled her eyes skywards as she opened the bag of weed and reached into her purse for some papers. She was clearly not buying his story.

“You’re not actually planning on rolling a marijuana cigarette? Here? In the car park of this… establishment?” Aziraphale wasn’t exactly shocked, but he was a bit uncomfortable. They were inside a vehicle in the dark, but still…

“Marijuana cigarette? Establishment?” Anathema snorted as she placed the baggie on her lap and skillfully folded the paper into a crease. “That’s what I love about you Azi. You’re so charmingly well spoken. It’s like hanging out with a hot English teacher.”

_Hot?_ Aziraphale, immediately hung up on that one, unfamiliar word, looked at her with utter disbelief. “What do you mean hot?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Hot, Aziraphale. You know. Sexy. You’re _sexy_.” She over enunciated the word as if he had trouble understanding English. “I thought you’d know that by now. What with the way people are always staring at you.”

“Which people?” Aziraphale was struck dumb by the turn this conversation was taking. “When?”

“All the time Azi. Don’t you notice? You make quite an impression.”

“I’m sorry Anathema, but I’ve no clue what you’re talking about. Can you elaborate please?” He wasn’t fishing for compliments. Well, maybe he was a tiny bit, but his main reason for asking was for evidence, of which he’d seen very little so far in his life. He’d never been complimented by his bathroom trysts, and his only two partners had been sparing with the compliments on his looks. His parents had never remarked on his looks either, and he’d assumed it was because he was ugly. That, and as they were so fond of saying, ‘vanity is a sin.’

Anathema, who at this point had half of her attention focused on painstakingly sprinkling crumbled olive green leaves of marijuana into the crease in the paper she’d made, spoke in a distracted tone. “You know… you wear those funny clothes, like you’re off the set of some period piece romance from the forties, but you have that face, and so the combination sort of throws people for a loop… in a good way.” She gently tamped down the green material into an even line and then carefully rolled the line of greenery into a tight joint, wetting the protruding end of the paper with a swift lick of her tongue before pressing it closed. 

“What about my face?” Aziraphale had never heard anyone refer to him as ‘hot’ before. He’d always thought his face had been quite ordinary. Thin lips, wide eyes, a nose with one too many bumps in it to be well shaped. 

Anathema turned to look at him, and this time it was her turn to express disbelief. “Aziraphale,” she said softly, “you’re gorgeous. Like honest to goodness one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met. And believe me, I’ve met a few in my day.” She put one end of the joint in her mouth and lit the other end with a hastily struck match. 

Aziraphale was so dumbfounded that he didn’t even notice that she’d lit up a joint in public. He stared at her through a plume of fragrant smoke as she exhaled out of the corner of her mouth. 

“I’m glad you think so Anathema, even if I can’t agree. Can’t say as I’ve noticed anyone looking at me however… I spend so much time in the bookshop.”

“Yes. I know” Anathema’s words were choked and thick as she spoke around a lungful of smoke, then let it out in a long stream, little puffs of it escaping her nostrils, making her look like an especially pretty dragon. “You’ve always got your nose in a book. You probably didn’t even notice that cute guy that came in last week when I was there, just trying to get your phone number.”

“Which cute guy?” He swore he didn’t remember any attractive men in the shop.

“That hot black guy with the dreads. He was all over you, asking about books on geography, but I could tell he was really interested in something else, if you know what I mean.” She waggled her eyebrows at him suggestively. 

_Oh, that man_. Aziraphale remembered the handsome bloke in a posh sweater with wire rimmed spectacles and kind eyes who’d engaged him in quite a lengthy conversation about middle eastern geography. Come to think of it though, he’d simply asked questions and then let Aziraphale prattle on about the subject. “Oh,” he said softly.

“Yes, _‘oh_ ’,” There was laughter hiding behind Anathema’s voice. “He ‘fancied’ you, as you Brits like to say. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

“I didn’t!” Aziraphale, feeling a bit like he was being scolded for being so oblivious, was getting gently defensive. “I don’t see myself that way, as someone… attractive. As someone, men, want to be with.”

This wiped the smile off Anathema’s face, made her reach out with the hand not holding the joint and place it softly against his cheek. “That’s terrible Azi. You should know how beautiful you are. You’re one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen.”

Her face blurred as tears filled his eyes and he felt his cheeks burning in embarrassment. Why was he crying? Was a soft hand to his cheek and a few kind words all it took these days to reduce him to a sobbing mess? And yet, her words had cracked something open inside him. A brittle scar over an old wound. He wasn’t beautiful. He was plump and plain and unsexy and old. He felt _so_ old, especially here, sitting in this car with this lovely young woman who was casually puffing away on a joint outside a strip club. 

All he’d known of life until he was in his mid twenties were bible studies and prayers, respectable television shows with no nudity and no foul language. Clean jokes. He hadn’t even lived really until he’d moved out of his parent’s house and found that there were things in life he wanted far more than the priesthood. He’d wanted to fall in love, and maybe one day get married. He’d wanted to open his bookshop, to keep accumulating knowledge and store it up in a safe and beautiful place. He wanted more friends like Anathema. Friends who said surprising things and knew fascinating people. Friends who told him he was beautiful and put soft hands to his cheek. 

“I’m sorry,” he said wetly as the tears in his eyes lost their battle with gravity and plummeted down his cheeks. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Anathema removed her hand but kept her eyes, soft and kind, trained on his face, tracking his emotional changes, making sure she was holding space for him. “It’s OK to cry around me. God knows I do it enough.”

“Thank you for saying such nice things about me,” Aziraphale sniffed and gladly accepted the clean yet rumpled tissue that Anathema fished out of a pocket in her brocade jacket. She took one more toke off the joint, then coated her finger with saliva and tapped out the glowing ember with several swift presses of her wet fingertip. She deposited the roach in the plastic bag with the rest of the weed, rolled it up and stuffed it into her shirt (probably into her brassier). She then sprayed the inside of the car with flowery perfume, catching Aziraphale a bit in the process. 

“Lets head to dinner,” she said, sounding sleepy and stoned. “I could eat a horse.”

Aziraphale chuckled and nodded “Yes. Lets. That’s something I’d enjoy watching”

They pulled out of the car park and off to dinner. Aziraphale sent up a silent prayer that Anathema drove well while stoned, but he needn’t have worried. She was a cautious and exacting driver, having lived in the UK for several years now, enough time to fully grow accustomed to everything being on the “wrong side of the street.” 

He stared out the window as the city streets flowed past, draped in darkness and thought of a lithe man with red hair, swirling about on a shining pole. 


	2. Chapter 2

Anthony Crowley stepped from the dimly lit room into the spa bathroom to wash up after his most recent massage. He worked the soap into a lather with his hands and scrubbed up both forearms to the elbow before running his arms and hands under hot water, then toweling them off. He’d wait for a few minutes in the hallway outside the treatment room for his client to put her clothing back on so that he could offer her a paper cup full of cold water and accept his tip. Most people tipped well, fifteen to twenty pounds, but some people thought a five pound note would do it, and it was irritating to put all that energy into lovingly manipulating almost every muscle in a client’s body, only to be given a fiver as a tip. 

This client was a regular one. An overworked human resources manager from a local corporation, and she was always grateful for the work Anthony did. And above and beyond making a living wage, the joy and relaxation on his client’s faces was most of the reason Anthony had gone to school for this in the first place. He loved taking away people’s stress and pain and seeing them melt under his skilled hands. And he loved working with his body. He’d always had a good connection with his body, always knew where he ended and other people began and what was going on inside him. He’d taken up meditating a few years prior and it had only served to deepen this mind/body connection. He’d grown up with parents who couldn’t be less aware of their physical selves. They weren’t very affectionate to him and his two sisters, and he could swear that they’d stopped having sex the minute his youngest sister was born. They were cold and stiff with each other, and only fractionally warmer to their children. 

This had lead Anthony to seek touch from all sorts of other people. From boys in secondary school and college who were kind enough to let him suck them off, to a string of boyfriends, some kind, some abusive, to simply wanting to cuddle with platonic friends as much as they’d let him. He earned the nickname “snake boy” for his love of warmth and for wanting to coil himself around the people closest to him, and he’d internalized the animal totem. He was slender and sensual. He did crave warmth to the point that he felt he must be at least partly cold blooded. This animal identity had been the motivation behind getting the large snake tattoo that wrapped its way up his left arm. 

He’d won himself a scholarship to the London Dance Academy when he’d been twenty one years of age, and there, he’d learned ballet and modern dance. He’d dropped out early, before earning his certification and diploma, but not before he’d learned all that he could about the ways in which he could move his body to impress audiences and thrill spectators. He’d worked with a few ballet companies here and there for a decade or so, and enjoyed it. He’d also starred in a few music videos, most notably for Janet Jackson and Whitney Houston, back in the early nineties. His looks and his unique dancing style garnered him a lot of attention. 

Until he’d discovered cocaine, and then the whole thing had gone pear shaped.

He’d been introduced to the drug by way of another dancer, who assured him it would give him energy and keep him slender. Anthony hadn’t ever struggled with his weight, but sometimes, the grueling pace of dancing, practice, performance did get to him and he felt run down. He’d been curious and so he’d snorted the white powder his fellow dancer had spilled out onto a CD case, had scraped into a thin line with the edge of his credit card. The high was fantastic. It made him feel invincible and clever and he had endless energy. Everything suddenly felt so interesting and so important, and he stayed up with this other dancer, Ligur, doing coke, having sex and talking a mile a minute until the early morning hours. 

Soon though, it stopped being fun and exciting and new. He needed the drug to summon up the energy to get out of bed in the morning. His performance started to slack off. He grew snappish and short with the other dancers, and then with his employers, who promptly sacked him. 

It took him three more years, the remainder of his thirties to hit rock bottom. He’d been evicted from his flat for failing to pay the rent, and had ended up sleeping in his posh car that he could also no longer afford, as all his earnings had been pissed away on cocaine. He’d consoled himself for being evicted by going on a week long bender with the last of his cash, and he’d been so high that he’d forgotten to lock his car doors. It was close to four am when he’d been dragged out of his car by three toughs in hoodies, with bandanas hiding their lower faces and beaten to within an inch of his life. They took his CD player, his wallet, his stash of cocaine and left him bloodied up with two broken ribs and a black eye. They’d also been kind enough to shatter both the front and rear windows of his car before running off into the night. 

It was then that he realized he couldn’t live like this anymore. Which was laughable of course. It was quite easy to acknowledge that maybe he needed to quit the blow now that his flat was gone, his car was ruined, his ribs were broken and he was financially tapped out. If he didn’t do something, he’d surely die in a gutter somewhere, and so after a trip to A&E, and three days in hospital recovering, he’d checked himself into a rehab facility for a month. This necessitated him begging his parents for money. Something he loathed to do, but there was simply no alternative. Neither of his sisters had the financial wherewithal to help out, and his parents were relatively well off. They’d sniffed and looked down their noses at him. There’d been quite a few cold lectures on the benefits of responsibility, and on the danger of the _lifestyle_ he’d committed himself to. 

He knew that they weren’t referring to his dancing career when they’d said the word “Lifestyle,” but to his sexual orientation. They’d never wanted to accept him as a gay man, still hoping he’d meet a nice girl and settle down, and they’d been deeply uncomfortable with his career in dance. His father, Henry Crowley had called it “mincing about on stage.” His mother, Muriel Crowley had called it “a waste of good money” and “a useless pastime.” Understandable, as his father had built a successful business for himself as an electrician (‘solid, man’s work’) and his mother had been raised by strict Irish catholics. 

And so he’d swallowed down his pride and begged them to finance his rehabilitation program, and they’d come through. They did still love him, in their own stiff way. After a month of sobriety, Anthony J Crowley had felt like a human being again. He’d signed up for massage school as a profession that would allow him to use his body, to be in his body, and as a way to make some good money without spending four years on a degree or being forced to sit in an office all day. It had worked out well. He’d taken to massage like a fish to water and swiftly developed a reputation at the first spa he applied to.

The exotic dancing had happened by accident. He’d met a cute guy, had gone on a few dates, only to learn that his new boyfriend was a dancer at a local gay club. Anthony had gone to see him, and it had looked like so much fun. Undulating on stage in front of an audience of horny men who wanted nothing more than to shower him with cash. It appealed to his vanity and his love of dance and his healthy cocaine-free libido (which had returned with a vengeance when the drugs had left his system). So he’d applied for a job and had instantly been accepted. He had a long and impressive resume, and a highly valuable skill set that trumped his advanced age (being a forty year old in this industry was usually synonymous with rejection). 

And so he’d started working the clubs every weekend. The money had come rolling in. And, with the money he made through his day job in the spa, he was back on top again. He also sold weed on the side, only to trustworthy clients. He never touched the harder stuff, the coke and the heroin or the methamphetamines. He toked a bit of weed now and then, and had a drink every few nights, but found it easy not to descend into addictive behaviors with these milder, more socially accepted drugs. 

He made sure to keep his two jobs very separate. Massage therapists, ones with professional educations and legitimate licensure, always had to struggle to maintain professional boundaries and to keep the suggestion of sexuality away from their businesses. People were quick to try and project sex onto massage when it was the last thing massage therapy was about. Sensuality and sexuality are very close to one another, but are two very separate things, and so Anthony danced at clubs that were on the other side of the city from the spa where he worked. He always wore dark glasses when he went on stage, and never gave out his massage business card to strangers who frequented the club.

Until tonight. Not that this Aziraphale person was a stranger per say. He was clearly close friends with Ana, and anyone who Ana liked, Anthony instantly trusted. And beyond that, the man had seemed genuinely kind and respectful, if a bit stuffy. He hadn’t tried to cop a feel, hadn’t tried to ask Anthony for his phone number, hadn’t made lascivious comments about Anthony’s body. Not that Anthony minded compliments, it’s just that he wouldn’t offer to do body work on someone who so clearly thought of him sexually. That boundary had to be kept firmly in place. The people who looked at him _that way_ usually ended up expecting a hand job or a blow job during a massage. Men _and_ women had hit on him while on his table, and he’d politely deflected their advances and continued giving them high quality massage. You’d be surprised really, how quickly an elbow pressed deeply into the tight muscles of someone’s low back will make them forget about their erection. 

Aziraphale however hadn’t treated him with anything other than polite respect. He’d even been a bit shy. Seeming unsure of how to behave around Anthony. For some reason, the man’s face had drifted through Anthony’s mind several times since last night. There was something about him, his old fashioned clothing, his large, sea colored eyes. His soft voice and hesitant mannerisms that stuck in Anthony’s subconscious like a grain of sand in the heel of a shoe from beach trip one could no longer remember making. 

He wasn’t Anthony’s type really. He usually went for other dancers. Other men with lithe, bendable bodies, several years younger than him. But he supposed that had less to do with their bodies and more to do with the fact that they’d be more likely to let him take the lead. They wouldn’t expect as much. Would let him keep his distance. He knew enough about himself to know that he was usually drawn to cads and wankers. To men who didn’t value him. He wasn’t sure why. Self punishment? Acting out some old scripts from his childhood with emotionally unavailable parents probably. Who knew? He only knew that if he dated emotionally unavailable men, or young men who didn’t feel comfortable demanding closeness of him, that he’d stay safe. He wouldn’t have to feel the pain of rejection or the pain of being truly known. 

The fact that Anthony kept thinking of Aziraphale though, didn’t make sense to him. Yes, the man was attractive. It was hard to ignore this fact. His face was the face of a marble statue in a museum, the face of a Greek god. His wild white-blond hair and stormy eyes and expressive brows had caught Anthony’s notice immediately. He found the man’s plumpness also quite appealing, which was unusual for him, a man who dated slender or muscular men almost exclusively. Aziraphale looked solid. He looked _warm_ . Someone Anthony could curl up with on a Sunday morning. Now why had his brain gone there? He’d only just met the bloke, didn’t even know if he were gay. Though, it was highly unlikely that he was straight, being in that club with Anathema, wearing that ancient get up. If he _were_ straight, he would be an unusual straight man indeed. 

Anthony tried banishing thoughts of Aziraphale’s face, telling himself that the man was just not his type. Too academic. Too old fashioned. He looked like a english professor. Like a librarian. Anthony J Crowley didn’t date librarians. He dated guitarists and dancers and singers and artists. He dated twinks and body builders and yoga instructors. Men whose faces and bodies were very much in line with societal beauty standards. And yet… and yet, here he was, unable to get this stuffy, old fashioned man’s face out of his mind. 

His client finally opened the door and wandered into the hallway, a blissed out, slightly confused look on her face, one that Anthony was familiar with by now. People got high on natural chemicals during a good massage. They let go of their spinning, worried monkey mind and got in touch with their body and how it felt to be touched lovingly and mindfully. Getting a massage was an hour long meditation involving sensual touch and physical healing, and people usually wandered out of the treatment room, looking like they’d just woken up after a long and restful sleep. Their faces creased from being pressed into the face cradle, their hair a mess from having their scalp massaged. It was quite adorable really. 

“Dear god, you’re amazing,” his client, Patricia mumbled happily as she pressed a crisp 20 pound note into his hand and gave him a warm hug. Anthonly didn’t hug all of his clients, but sometimes they were so overcome with joy from the work he did that they asked if they could hug him, and he happily agreed. He handed her the cup of water and steered her gently towards the front desk, where the receptionist, Jaylene would handle the payment. 

“See you next month,” he called softly after her and she nodded sleepily as she wandered towards the front room of the spa. 

Anthony made quick work of switching the sheets on the table, of making up some more hot towels for the towel cabbie and prepared for his next client. He could do four or five massages in one day, but preferred to keep it to three a shift, otherwise, he’d start to flag physically. He was so good that he was booked up for weeks with dedicated repeat clients, but if Aziraphale wanted an appointment, if he ever did make use of the card Anthony had given him, he’d be sure to fit him in somewhere. He liked the man. He wanted to see him again. But he wasn’t sure how to go about that. He could ask Anathema how to get in touch with him, but with that girl’s mouth being what it was, she’d spill the beans to Aziraphale instantly, and that would impede their ability to see what could be between them organically. 

Anthony didn’t like putting everything out on the table so early. He preferred getting to know someone as a friend first, without the awkwardness of a date hanging over the proceedings. Without the question of “When will he kiss me? Will we go to bed together?” hanging in the air between them. Telling Anathema he wanted to see Aziraphale again would surely kick her little matchmaking heart into overdrive and Anthony wanted the ability to take his time and approach Aziraphale through other means. 

Hadn’t Ana said that he owned a bookshop? He recalled her text from earlier in the day yesterday.

_Don’t be stressed if I bring someone to the club tonight when I come meet you. He can be trusted. He’s a really sweet guy. Doesn’t smoke, but he won’t mind if we do business in front of him. Owns a bookshop in Soho. He’s cool._

Perhaps he could find out where this bookshop was without involving Ana? Maybe just stop by like he was in the area and thought he’d say hello. 

He pulled out his phone while he waited for his next client to arrive and googled Aziraphale’s name. What had it been “Aziraphale Fell?"

A.Z Fell and co Booksellers popped up as the top search option. Unable to believe his luck, Anthony clicked on the reviews and had to suppress a chuckle at the plethora of conflicting opinions represented therein. 

_“This place is fantastic! More books than I’ve ever seen in my life. Even in the big, company owned shops. Piles of books. Like literally, this bloke might have a problem with collecting books. And he was ever so helpful in finding me that perfect Christmas gift for my aunt. Very nice and attentive service. Kind of felt like he rushed me out the door at the end, but he’s probs just eccentric.”_

_“This place is awful! The owner kept trying to push me out the door, and the hours are incomprehensible and change daily. I’ve never met a bookseller who actively tried NOT to sell anything! Stay away unless you like being treated like a trespasser!”_

_“Wowza! The owner looks like he’s fresh out of a Jane Austin novel or something with his antique clothing. Quite a cutie. He had a copy of a first edition Julia Childs cookbook I’d been looking for and he sold it to me at a reasonable cost, but like, he acted sad when I bought it… kind of like he didn’t want me to take it? He’s a funny guy, but really sweet. So. Many. Books. And it’s a quaint little shop. Would highly recommend, just for the experience.”_

_“Rude service. Hours change daily. The man literally refused to sell me a first edition copy of Wuthering Heights, even when I offered him more money than the price on the sticker. What a wanker. Stay far away from this dump!”_

And there was the address, plain as day. Anthony was glad Aziraphale had been so easy to find. If it had taken more digging, if his shop had been smaller, harder to find or more obscurely named, it wouldn’t have looked as casual to simply stop by. Tomorrow was his next day off from the spa. He supposed he could swing by then. The thought of seeing Aziraphale again made a strange fluttering feeling bloom inside his stomach, a feeling he tried valiantly to ignore. 


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale heard the bell on his shop door jangle and had to suppress a twinge of irritation. He’d wanted to close up early today so that he could start his perusal of some newly acquired volumes of Greek poetry. He’d planned to close the doors at four thirty, and it was four eighteen at the moment. Perhaps he could usher this new customer out of the shop after allowing them to browse for a few minutes. Or even better, they’d take a stroll through the shop and leave swiftly of their own accord. Most people did when they realized they’d only stopped in from idle curiosity and that the sheer number of books was too daunting a thing to tackle with only a few minutes time while on their way to supper or a show.

He rounded a row of shelves and saw who’d entered the shop, and all thoughts of rushing them out the door fled instantly. Anthony Crowley was standing in the foyer, just inside the front door, staring up at the shelves upon shelves, the stacks upon stacks of books. He looked stunned.

Aziraphale was used to people looking stunned when they first walked in. The place was old and rambling, with high ceilings and antique woodwork and it was filled to the brim with every book imaginable. Quite intimidating to people who weren’t prepared to experience it. 

Anthony’s head swung around as Aziraphale appeared and he smiled warmly. He was wearing a snugly fit button down shirt in a deep blue color and a pair of indecently tight jeans. A silver bracelet encircled one wrist and he wore a silver chain around his neck, visible through the significant gap at the top of his shirt that exposed a tempting swath of pale chest. His hair was down this time, falling to his shoulders in dark copper waves. He had his dark glasses on again, much to Aziraphale’s disappointment.

“Hello there,” The other man said, executing a casual little wave. “Aziraphale isn’t it?” 

“Yes, hello Anthony. Nice to see you again.” Aziraphale approached Anthony swiftly, extending his hand for a shake, trying to keep his voice friendly and casual, when inside, his heart was racing a mile a minute at the sight of the slender, red haired man standing in his shop. He looked so incongruous, standing there in his casually handsome clothing and his stylishly mussy hair and his posh shades. Aziraphale’s shop felt shabby and cluttered in comparison, and so did its owner. 

They shook hands and then stood there, looking at one another a touch awkwardly for a minute. Anthony spoke first.

“I was in the neighborhood, running some errands and just happened to stumble on this place. Recognized the name from when we met the other night. Not a lot of Fells around these parts.” He sounded a little nervous didn’t he? It was sometimes hard for Aziraphale to read other people’s moods, what with his own anxiety coloring his perceptions. 

“Oh. Well that’s lovely then. Glad you stopped in.” Aziraphale hoped he didn’t sound too eager. “Care to take the tour?” he asked. 

“Sure. Sounds great,” Anthony replied with a shy grin. Why did he have to keep those dark glasses on all the time? Aziraphale was growing more anxious over not getting to see Anthony’s eyes. There was something deeply revealing about a person’s eyes, and those who wore dark shades, in situations where they weren’t strictly warranted, gave off a vibe of an addict, a liar or of someone affecting a ‘too-cool’ attitude that always irritated Aziraphale. And yet here was Anthony, inside his shop, on a not-that-sunny day, still sporting those blasted shades. 

He led the other man back into the rows of books that took up much of the first floor of his shop, telling Anthony about the different sections they walked past. Geography and cartography. Roman history. Greek history. Buddhist texts. Poetry pre 1800. Poetry post 1800. Novels. Mysteries. Even a small romance and erotic fiction section. When Aziraphale said the words “romance” and “erotic fiction,” he’d rushed them a bit and avoided looking at Anthony when he spoke. 

Anthony made the appropriate noises that signified interest, and remarked thoughtfully on the layout of the shop. And then they were back to the foyer. 

“I have a small apartment upstairs,” Aziraphale explained with a faint gesture behind him toward the stairs leading up. “But I’m hardly ever up there. Just sleep there a few hours a night and use it as a place to keep my to keep my clothes and my toothbrush.” He grinned nervously at Anthony, who grinned back, a more lopsided, confident smirk.

“Thanks for the tour.” He said. “So is it true what your yelp reviews say?”

“I’m sorry? What reviews?” Aziraphale was confused

“The yelp reviews. Online.”

Aziraphale continued to stare at him, unsure of what a ‘yelp’ was, outside of a sharp noise one makes with one’s mouth. He saw Anthony’s face do the thing most people’s faces do when they found out something antiquated or silly about Aziraphale’s life. His eyebrows rose to his hairline and his mouth fell open into a soft gape. “You don’t know what Yelp is?” he asked incredulously.

Aziraphale sighed, his ears going hot and his cheeks following shortly afterward. He cast his eyes at the floor and shook his head. “No. Never heard of it. Next you’ll be telling me it’s this thing that everyone uses, and you’ll be asking me how I could have possibly gone so long without knowing of its existence.” He scuffed the toe of one shoe gently into the fabric of the small carpet in his foyer.    
  
“Well, not really” Anthony replied. “But I do find it pretty humorous that you haven’t seen the reviews of this place yet.”

“Reviews?” Aziraphale looked up again, curious despite himself. 

“Yeah. It’s a website where people rate and review local businesses so people know where to shop and eat and so forth. Here. I’ll pull it up on my phone and show you.” He pulled a slim smartphone out of his back pocket, unlocked it with a complicated motion of his finger and began pecking away at it with both thumbs. Aziraphale watched the expression on his face change as he brought up the site, going from concentration to a broad grin. “Shall I read you one?” he asked. 

“Oh. very well then, if you’d like,” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to expect. 

Anthony cleared his throat dramatically and read the first review. 

_ “Wowza! The owner looks like he’s fresh out of a Jane Austin novel or something with his antique clothing. Quite a cutie. He had a copy of a first edition Julia Childs cookbook I’d been looking for and he sold it to me at a reasonable cost, but like, he acted sad when I bought it… kind of like he didn’t want me to take it? He’s a funny guy, but really sweet. So. Many. Books. And it’s a quaint little shop. Would highly recommend, just for the experience.” _

Aziraphale felt his cheeks burning at hearing a man he found incredibly attractive, reading a stranger’s words about him and his shop. It felt intimate and embarrassing concurrently. “Oh my!” he exclaimed and took a step closer to Anthony. “May I see these reviews you’re reading?”

Anthony held out his phone, keeping it in his hand and scrolling down the web page a bit with the tip of one slender finger, showing Aziraphale the next review. The two bent their heads together over the dim light of his cell phone screen while Aziraphale read the next few reviews. Standing this close to the other man, he could smell his spicy, posh cologne and feel the heat coming from his slender body. It was distracting. 

The reviews were funny and flattering, and just a little insulting. He stepped back after reading a few more, and smiled sheepishly, running the fingers of one hand through his wild hair, still reeling a bit inside from standing so close to Anthony. “Well! Color me surprised! I had no idea such a thing existed. And for the record, I  _ don’t _ try and usher people out of my shop. I simply make it unpleasant for them to stay longer than I want them to.”

This earned him a bark of laughter from Anthony. “Is that so?” the man replied, and then he took off his shades. 

The sight of Anthony’s eyes, without warning, without preamble, hit Aziraphale like a physical blow to the chest and he involuntarily stumbled back a step, playing it off as if he’d lost his footing against the carpet in the foyer. Anthony’s eyes, once revealed, were a pale amber hazel. Golden in color and beautiful in shape. “Your eyes.” he said before he could stop himself. “They’re quite unusual.”

Now it was Anthony’s turn to blush, his cheeks coloring prettily as he scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck and cleared his throat, apparently uncomfortable with compliments on his appearance.  _ Strange _ thought Aziraphale for someone so beautiful who displays their body for the enjoyment of others on a stage, to be shy about his eyes

“Yeah. Blame my parents for mixing their DNA up in the most confusing ways possible. My mums’ a redheaded Irish lady and my da is half black and half white, but he has the same eyes I do. My sisters have caramel skin and blue eyes and I got pale skin and these…” he waved a hand vaguely towards his face. It was clearly a little speech he’d said many times before. It felt practiced, the way these sorts of explanations, about family background and such usually did. It didn’t stop Aziraphale from smiling at the thought of his dark skinned, blue eyed sisters and him. 

“I think they’re quite lovely,” he said before he could stop himself. 

Anthony’s blush deepened and he cleared his throat, ignoring Aziraphale’s compliment in favor of looking around at the shop, letting his eyes play over the shelves and shelves of books. 

“Want to go get a drink?” he asked suddenly, turning those unbelievable eyes to Aziraphale’s face. 

“What, now?” It was quarter to five in the afternoon. A bit early for a drink. In reality, Aziraphale would have gone for a drink at half past nine in the morning with Anthony. He’d go anywhere with Anthony, but the question, coming out of the blue knocked him momentarily off balance. 

“Yea,” Anthony replied. “S’not too early is it? Felt like maybe we could continue this conversation somewhere else… maybe…” He let the invitation hang in the air between them, still keeping his eyes roaming about the room and away from Aziraphale’s face. 

Aziraphale was suddenly struck with a stab of panic through his gut. What if Anthony was looking for a quick shag. He’d seen Aziraphale at his show, had picked up on Aziraphale’s obvious attraction for him and had swung by to see if he could tumble Aziraphale into bed. His thoughts turned to Gabriel. Gabriel who was also very physically fit and handsome and had seemed oh so interested in the beginning. His mouth went dry. 

“Oh. Um. I need to clean up here, and I have some inventory work I need to do, so… perhaps not tonight,” he heard himself say. 

Anthony deflated slightly and his shoulders shifted uncomfortably into a shrug. “Yeah. OK. Forget I asked. No biggie.” He turned and immediately started walking away. 

“Oh.. well.. You don’t have to leave just yet!” Aziraphale took a step towards him, just now realizing that he may have been handed something delicate and maybe, just maybe he’d smashed it carelessly against the floor. 

“I’ve got some things I need to do actually.” Anthony was half out the door as he spoke “Catch you round. Nice seeing you.” And then he was gone. 

Aziraphale looked at the closed door for far too long after Anthony left.  _ Oh drat _ he thought, wringing his hands together at his waist.  _ I’ve gone and done it this time haven’t I? _

And yet… wasn’t pushing for connection really quickly a sure sign of someone who didn’t intend to stick around? That’s what Anathema always said about her dating life. That the men who wouldn’t wait for her, wouldn’t accept a date later in the week, or wouldn’t exchange phone numbers and talk to her a few times, were usually only after one thing. And Anthony had disappeared the moment Aziraphale had said  _ not tonight _ hadn’t he?

Aziraphale convinced himself that this was what had transpired. Anthony thought he could get Aziraphale into bed for a quick shag, had thought him an easy conquest and had retreated the minute he’d gotten the slightest push back. 

Aziraphale felt unaccountably disappointed. A dark cloud hung over the rest of his evening as he shelved a new box of books that had come in that week and puttered around the shop, washing tea cups in his tiny kitchenette and replaying every nuance in his brief exchange with Anthony. 

By 8 o’clock, he’d called Anathema. Despite the fact that she’d been pushing him to get a mobile phone, so that they could text one another, Aziraphale stubbornly stuck to his antiquated, rotary dial telephone. He found old things reassuring. In a world that changed each time one blinked one’s eye, it was nice to have some solid, hard working appliances around. Like his toaster oven from 1962, or this old lump of a telephone. He dialed Anathema’s number and waited. 

“Well if it isn’t my favorite bookshop owner. Hello there babe,” her warm voice already relaxed him a little. 

“Anathema dear. I think I’ve made a terrible mistake,” he began. 

“Do tell,” she sounded intrigued

“Well, your friend, Anthony from the club?”

“Yes?” the interest in her voice peaked

“He, he stopped by the shop just now”

“No! Really?!” She shouted it into the phone and Aziraphale held the receiver back from his ear a few inches in surprise. 

“Yes really.” He proceeded to tell her about their interaction, finishing with how he’d turned Anthony down for a late afternoon drink.

“You’re an idiot,” she said bluntly. “I love you to death, and you’re oh so clever, so I’m wondering how someone so clever could be so stupid.”

“Come now Anathema! How am I being stupid? I thought he wanted a quick thing. Are you sure he doesn’t?” he hated the naked hope in his voice when he asked her that question.

“Of course not! He’s clearly interested in more than a one night stand. Besides, he’s not the type. He told me himself, he’s tired of quick flings.”

“But why would he be interested in  _ me _ ?” Aziraphale wailed plaintively. “I’m just a bookshop owner with too many books. I’m a plump old man who spends all day reading. And he’s.. He’s… well he’s gorgeous.”

“Ha! I  _ knew _ you liked him!” Anathema sounded as if she’d won a prize at the local fair. “And for the record, you’re gorgeous as well,  _ and _ fascinating  _ and _ lovely and he’d be an idiot not to fall for you instantly.” 

Aziraphale made a rude noise and waved away her compliments with a motion of his hand that she of course could not see through the phone. “But, I’ve ruined it Anathema. I told him no. I panicked. What do I do now?”

“Call him up!” She sounded as if this were the obvious answer. 

“Oh no! I couldn’t do that. We barely know each other”

“You’ve hung out twice now.” she countered immediately

“For barely fifteen mintuest!” He could tell his protestations were meaningless to her, but he still felt strange calling a man he was just starting to talk to.

“So? You like him don’t you? What’s wrong with calling him up?”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure. He only knew that his attraction for this mysterious dancer was terrifying. He hadn’t felt this way, so enthralled by someone since Lucien, whom he’d ended it with several years prior. He hadn’t had sex in all that time. Hadn’t kissed anyone. Hadn’t gone on one blessed date. And now, he was faced with the fear of putting himself out there to the one person he was the most impressed with since he’d ended his last relationship, and whom he’d apparently just brushed off rudely. He felt overwhelmed. 

“I don’t know. I’m just… intimidated by him. I don’t want to come off too eager. And what if he  _ does _ just want a shag? I’m too old for that sort of thing.”

“Listen,” Anathema had her problem solving voice on, and so Aziraphale stopped speaking and waited to hear what she’d come up with. “How about the three of us get together, just to hang out. Like at a restaurant or something. I can make plans with him, and then casually suggest that we invite you. Or vice versa, we can make plans and I’ll invite him. I’m sure he’ll say yes. Then, you’ll have me there to keep it from being awkward.”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “Hmm. That could work,” he said. “I think you should make plans with  _ me _ and then invite  _ him _ along. That way, if he says no, I can cry onto your shoulder over a bottle of wine.”

“I have a feeling you won’t be doing any crying,” she responded, and he could hear the grin in her voice. 

They settled on a plan to head to a local outdoor market that coming Sunday. Anathema happened to know that Crowley had Sunday days off, working the evening at the spa but not at the club. She’d texted him that she and Aziraphale were planning on heading to the market that day, and would he like to come along. She did so while leaning against the counter of Aziraphale’s shop during their daily lunch break, and Aziraphale waited with his heart in his throat to hear the Buddhist chimes that signified a response had come in on her cell. 

It took several minutes, during which Aziraphale went through the motions of carrying on a conversation, with his heart in his throat, but eventually, her phone chimed and she smiled up at him. “He wants to come,” she said, her smile growing broader. 

“Oh. Good.” Aziraphale tried valiantly not to blush, but felt his cheeks heat anyway. 

“Look at you!” Anathema teased. “Blushing like a school boy. You’ve got a crush.”

“Have not,” he grumbled, and took a bite of his egg salad sandwich, barely tasting the food as thoughts of Sunday’s get together danced in his mind. 

“I’ve met a nice guy recently” Anathema was saying. “Maybe I’ll invite him along and make it a double date.” 

“Do tell” it was Aziraphale’s turn to grin lasciviously at her now. 

“Well, he’s really shy and really sweet and not my normal type, but there’s something about him I like. And he’s cute. I don’t know. Probably won’t go anywhere, but why not invite him?”

“The more the merrier” Aziraphale said, and meant it. The more people in the gathering, the less awkward it would be for him being around Anthony. And of course, he’d be happy to meet any man that had caught Anathema’s fancy. 

It was only Tuesday, and Aziraphale had five days between now and when he’d see Anthony next. Why did it feel like an eternity? 


	4. Chapter 4

Anthony was surprised to see the text come in from Anathema, inviting him out with she and Aziraphale. He’d thought for sure that the handsome bookshop owner hadn’t been interested. Well, to be fair, he could  _ still  _ not be interested. Simply going to an outdoor market with a mutual friend was not a sure sign that he fancied Anthony, but if he didn’t want to see Anthony again, it was certainly a strange way to get that across. He tried to breathe deeply and wait a few minutes before responding. Not wanting to look too eager. He went to his kitchen and put the kettle on, making himself wait until its whistle sounded before he picked up the phone and texted back saying he’d like to come. 

He took his tea and sprawled across the leather sofa in his flat, looking up at the ceiling and thinking, not for the first time, of Aziraphale. He liked the fussy blond man. He liked him a lot. He found Aziraphale’s ignorance of the internet, his shop packed with books, his unusual clothing and his shy eyes extremely appealing. And that face. It was difficult to look at the man without thinking what it might be like to kiss those soft, well formed lips. What would he taste like Anthony wondered. 

He realized belatedly that he’d grown stiff inside his tight trousers and smiled at himself. This was always how his crushes went. He’d meet someone. He’d be impressed and intrigued. He’d start thinking about them in his spare time, which lead to wanking to thoughts of them naked and then eventually, he’d somehow work up the nerve to ask them out. He’d thought he’d skip a step with Aziraphale and go straight to the asking out part. And the man had turned him down. He’d looked at Anthony like he were a poisonous viper and had mumbled out some lame excuse, and that had been that. Anthony had been beyond disappointed at Aziraphale’s rejection. All of this had sort of had him skipping the wanking step of the equation, and now his cock was reminding him that he’d forgotten something. 

He ignored his erection and took a sip of his tea. He was more than ready to stroke himself to thoughts of Aziraphale touching him, smiling at him, at the imaginings of what the man’s body might look like under all those layers, but he didn’t feel that it was right to do so this early. It felt … disrespectful somehow. Something about Aziraphale felt different than the flirty, sexually adventurous men he normally went after. Something almost angelic?

He didn’t want to put the man on some pedestal, nor did he want to cast aspersions on his own sexuality, or those of past partners, but there was something pure about Aziraphale. Something sweet. He was oblivious to all the well worn seduction routines between gay men in the clubs. He seemed genuine and earnest. Shy. Simply rubbing one out to thoughts of his body felt like an invasion of the man’s privacy. 

Instead, he foisted himself up off the sofa, and tea in hand, went into his plant room. He’d set aside the small guest room in his flat for housing his multiple plants. It had a skylight which let in the sunshine and was spacious enough to house the several large pots of ficus and rubber plants and parlor palm and weeping fig. He also kept his moderate stash of marijuana hidden back behind the large pots that took up the majority of the space in that room. People were charmed by his plants and didn’t think to dig further when they saw his lush, personal greenhouse. 

His plants were a little like his children. He watered them, tended them, and, when he was feeling grumpy, would even scold them. He’d always loved plants. They were silent and calm and pretty, and being among them, when he wasn’t in a foul mood anyway, always helped him relax. Plants didn’t demand anything from him. They didn’t judge him. And they let him fuss over them, gave him something to care for. Anthony had to grin at himself. What kind of commitment issues must he have when even a cat or a dog was too much emotional involvement for him?

He hoped Sunday went well. He so wanted it to go well. He knew Aziraphale was attracted to him, could tell by the way the man moved around him, how he looked at Anthony. But men were often attracted to him. He’d learned over the past several decades that attraction was common and expected, and that it faded unpredictably. That it wasn’t always (or even usually) a sign of something deeper and more lasting. 

And why was he thinking about  _ deeper _ and  _ lasting _ when he thought of Aziraphale? He must be crushing a bit harder than he previously thought. 

Anthony ran loving fingers over the broad, dark green leaves of his rubber plant and sighed to himself. They had nothing in common. Anthony didn’t even enjoy reading, and Aziraphale was clearly uncomfortable being in the strip club where Anthony worked, and yet… and yet…

He sauntered out of the plant room and went to shower in preparation for his shift at the spa, which started at six, trying unsuccessfully to put thoughts of an angelic bookshop owner out of his mind. 


	5. Chapter 5

Anathema and Aziraphale wandered slowly through the tables of the open air market, looking at this thing or that, chatting, joking. Aziraphale tried to remain focused, but he couldn’t help darting his eyes about in search of a long awaited head of red hair and a lanky frame in tight jeans. Anathema’s new guy, Newt had been busy and so it was just the two of them meeting Anthony today.

They rounded a large group of tables, and there he was. Just as he and Anathema had stopped to look at some old vinyl records, Aziraphale caught sight of Anthony, sauntering towards them. Dear lord in heaven but he looked good. The man was dressed all in black. He wore a slinky black shirt, with the usual few buttons undone at the top and a pair of tight black jeans that hugged his hips and showcased his long thighs in a way that had Aziraphale’s heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. 

Anthony approached them and gave Anathema a warm hug, then turned to Aziraphale with arms outstretched in a clear invitation. “Are you a hugger?” he asked, and Aziraphale wordlessly stepped into his arms and embraced him swiftly. For just a couple of seconds he felt Anthony’s long arms squeeze him about the shoulders, felt the man’s narrow chest and flat belly pressed against his body, along with the tempting smell of his cologne, before Anthony pulled away again. 

“Find anything good yet?” he asked both of them, looking about at the tables of things for sale. 

“Not really” Anathema responded, “but I haven’t checked out the jewelry tables yet. You know how I get about rings and necklaces.”

“That I do,” Anthony replied with a grin. “Let’s head that way.” And so the three of them walked over to a group of tables several yards away that were festooned with piles of jewelry for sale. Anathema, a glint in her eyes that rivaled the most enterprising magpie, began poking through the piles and fondling the pendants and earrings that were hung on small metal stands on the tables. This left Aziraphale and Anthony to converse with each other for a moment. 

“Do you like jewelry?” Aziraphale asked, hoping to strike up a conversation and learn a bit more about Anthony, despite his nervousness at being near the man. 

“I do. But I’m very picky. Women’s costume jewelry doesn’t quite do it for me, but I might find something here… who knows.”

Aziraphale nodded, watching Anthony sweep his gaze over the offerings before them. The slender, red haired man reached out with a long fingered hand and lifted a fine silver chain out of the profusion of jewelry on the table with his fingertip, then let it drop again. 

“I’m sorry about the other day,” Aziraphale began again, hoping to rectify the miserable state of affairs he’d set in motion when he’d turned Anthony down for a drink. “I really was busy that evening, but if I hadn’t been, I’d have enjoyed getting a drink with you.” There. He’d said it. It was out there now. He wanted to spend time with Anthony. He only hoped the other man felt the same way, and not just as a fling. 

“S’alright,” Anthony replied, ducking his head in a shy sort of way, keeping his eyes trained on the table of trinkets. “It was short notice after all.”

“Perhaps we could get that drink sometime this week?” Aziraphale, now that he’d stepped off the cliff, figured that he might as well dash himself against the rocks. No going back now. 

“Yeah. I’d like that,” Anthony responded, a small smile creeping across his face. 

“Why do you wear those shades all the time?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t being too forward, but to be honest, it was a habit that drove him half mad, now that he knew how beautiful the other man’s eyes truly were. 

Anthony shrugged, his narrow shoulders rising and dropping self consciously. “I have a minor light sensitivity, and it helps me maintain anonymity on stage. And well… I just got used to them over the years.” There felt like something was missing from this explanation, but Aziraphale wasn’t about to push. 

At this point, Anathema butted in, demanding their opinion on a pair of earrings, purple and green peacock feathers and gold beads dangling from thin metal hooks. Both men agreed that the earrings suited her look when she held them up to the sides of her head and executed a mock model pose, pouting her mouth and raising her eyebrows, trying to look posh. 

From there, they wandered to several other tables. Aziraphale admired an antique trumpet and Anthony looked longingly at an ivory handled pen knife, but didn’t buy it. It took quite a bit of self control for Aziraphale to refrain from pulling out his wallet and offering to buy Anthony anything he fancied. As they walked through the rows of tables, joking amiably and laughing together, it struck Aziraphale that his nervous tension at being near Anthony had melted away somewhat. He could now relax into their time together. He even dared to make a few well placed puns that made the other man snort in laughter and roll his eyes. 

It was still early once they’d perused all the tables, and so Anathema suggested that they get something to eat together. The two men readily agreed. As they approached the car park however, Anathema, the sneaky girl, looked at her phone and made a dismayed noise. “Oh drat!” she exclaimed in a tone that came across as entirely theatrical. “It seems I’ve forgotten an appointment. Have some people coming to the shop to look at some new merchandise in a few. Guess you two will have to go without me.” 

Before either man could say anything, she’d grabbed Anthony and then Aziraphale, giving them both fond kisses to the cheek. “Have fun!” She chirped, winking at Aziraphale when her face was hidden from Anthony’s view by a swath of her dark hair. “I’ll catch you later!”

They barely had time to wish her goodbye before she’d gotten in her car and driven away, leaving Aziraphale and Anthony looking shyly at one another. 

“My car’s just over there.” Anthony remarked. “Would you still want to get something to eat? I have a few hours before my shift at the spa starts, and I know a good place.”

“That would be nice. Yes.” The nervousness that had melted away earlier as the three of them wandered about the market had returned with a vengeance, now that they were alone together again. He followed Anthony over to his sensible, compact car and got in the passenger seat. 

“Buckle up” Anthony remarked with a grim smile. “I’ve been told my driving is… imaginative.”

Aziraphale had no idea what that meant, but he supposed he’d find out. He pulled the safety belt across his chest and fastened it, just as Crowley squealed out of the parking lot and onto the main road, accelerating at an alarming rate. “Oh my!” Aziraphale braced himself against the roof of the car, eyes wide with alarm. “You weren’t exaggerating, were you?” It was the most polite way he could think of to say  _ you’re an insane person and I want out of this car now _ without being rude. 

Anthony however only chuckled at Aziraphale’s pale face and white knuckled hand clutching at the window frame. “I’m a safe driver. I just like to pretend I’m a madman on the road. It’s all an act though. I promise not to kill us both before we can go to lunch.” He said this as he slowed to roll through a stop sign and neatly cut off a driver trying to make a turn, gunning the accelerator. Aziraphale sent up a silent prayer that he would live long enough to get to know Anthony better. 

They pulled up outside a small cafe fifteen harrowing minutes later. Aziraphale peeled his fingers from the window frame of Anthony’s car and unclenched several muscle groups when Anthony put the car in park and they were blessedly no longer moving. 

“You OK?” Anthony asked, grinning over his sunglasses at Aziraphale, who sat white and trembling slightly in the passenger seat. He could just see a pale amber glimmer of Anthony’s eyes above the top of his dark glasses, and he was so distracted by the sight that he paused for a few seconds before replying.

“Yes. Yes rather. Your driving however  _ is _ quite… imaginative.”

This only earned another bark of laughter from Anthony. His laugh was joyful and sharp and it shook Aziraphale out of the trance he’d fallen under when looking at the golden flash of his eyes over the rim of his shades. “I warned ya,” he said, pulling himself up and out of the car in one languid movement. Aziraphale got out, less gracefully, and took a moment to straighten his lapels and his bowtie, tugging his waistcoat down, making himself presentable. As he did so, he looked at the front of the cafe with a discerning eye. He was a great lover of small cafes, and he had to admit, this one looked just darling. Small tables and chairs (not in use on a cool day like today) sat outside the front door and he could see several patrons inside through the windows, chatting amiably and sipping at cups of coffee and tea, or snacking on small plates of food. The sign above the door said “The Crane Cafe” in pink neon.

Upon following Anthony inside, he noticed that the walls and ceiling were festooned with origami cranes. Hundreds upon hundreds of them hanging from the ceiling by thin threads, swaying in the breeze from the open door. Hundreds of cranes, in all different colors, gold and green and red and purple and blue and white, pinned to cork-boards along the wall. Aziraphale gasped and without thinking, shot a hand out to grab Crowley’s arm, halting them both momentarily in the doorway as he looked around him in awe. He swiftly removed his hand, feeling his face heat at the sudden touch, but it didn’t burn away his surprise and delight at seeing all the cranes. Suddenly, the sign above the door made sense. 

“Ah. You like the cranes huh? I thought you might,” he heard Anthony say beside him. “The owner’s daughter was obsessed with making them when she was a wee thing, and so her da hung them up all over the place to make her happy. It made the customers happy too.” He smiled at Aziraphale, a smile of unguarded warmth, and slipped off his shades, fully revealing his eyes for the second time since they’d met, and the combination had Aziraphale’s breath catch in his throat. 

They were shown to a small table near the door and Aziraphale fought a valiant battle over where to keep his gaze, between the hundreds of colorful cranes festooning the restaurant, the small, laminated menu on the table before him and Anthony’s beautiful face. He swiftly decided that the menu took precedence, because well, he was hungry and ordering food had to be gotten out of the way first. Still, he was so distracted by the man across the table, that his eyes kept slipping blindly over the options. “What do you suggest?” he asked, lifting his eyes to Anthony’s face, and feeling a thrill of excitement run through him when they met the other man’s golden gaze.

“They do a very good pear and goat cheese salad. And their apple tarts are fantastic,” he remarked helpfully, dropping his gaze to the menu. 

“I’ll order both then!” Aziraphale said cheerily. He noticed a look of mild surprise flit across Anthony’s face and suddenly he wondered if he were being too greedy. If it were unattractive to order so much food in front of a… a what? A date?  _ Was this a date? _ He felt a sudden thrill of self conscious shame lance through him and felt his cheeks warming. 

Anthony must have sensed something was wrong because he reached out a hand and placed it tentatively on Aziraphale’s forearm, against the material of his jacket sleeve. “Hey.” he said softly. “That sounds like a lovely idea. I think you won’t be disappointed.”

“Oh. Oh good,” replied Aziraphale, feeling a little better about his order, yet still uncertain. This was a new situation for him. His last date had been with Lucien, some five or six years ago now, and it had involved quite a lot of drinking and had ended up in Lucien’s bedroom. He was used to wine soaked evenings in high end restaurants where his date would buy him something small and expensive, get him drunk and then fuck him. Not a friendly lunch, in a lovely, well lit cafe with a man who hadn’t yet made a pass at him, with no alcohol in sight. 

A server walked over, a sweet faced young girl with ginger hair and freckles, to take their order and Anthony ordered for Aziraphale, adding that they’d like a pot of jasmine tea and glasses of ice water to go with their meal. He raised his eyebrows at Aziraphale at the mention of the tea, tacitly asking his opinion, and Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically, being a great lover of tea in general. 

After she left to go fetch their orders, there was a moment of awkward silence. Anthony was fiddling with the edge of his placemat, looking at the ceiling, the door, the other patrons, as if he were afraid to look at Aziraphale, and Aziraphale, unsure of how to start a conversation, couldn’t seem to look at anything but Anthony. 

“So,” Aziraphale began, marshalled his courage “how did you find out about this place?”

“Oh,” Crowley’s golden eyes turned to Aziraphale’s face as if just realizing he were there. Aziraphale wondered when exactly it was that he’d get used to being the focus of those lovely unique eyes. “A client recommended it actually.” He replied, seeming glad to have some subject to break the silence. “We got on the subject of origami somehow and he raved about the place and made me promise to check it out.”

“How nice,” Aziraphale replied, “do you often talk to your clients during massages”. 

“I don’t, no” Replied Crowley. “I prefer mostly staying silent, to let them enjoy the experience in peace. Massage isn’t like being a hairstylist, where you can chat the whole time. But sometimes, the clients do like to talk, and when they do, I’ll indulge them with some conversation. Honestly, it sort of knocks me out of the headspace I like to be in during a massage, but they’re the boss.” He finished with a small smile. 

“Interesting,” Aziraphale replied, truly interested. “I’ve never had a professional massage.”

“Oh, then let me tempt you to one,” Anthony grinned at him and Aziraphale thought his heart might have stopped beating for a moment. 

“Do you think I’d enjoy it?” he asked, trying to ignore the soft flutters in his stomach whenever Anthony smiled. 

He expected Anthony to assure him that he’d love a massage, but the other man looked thoughtful for a moment before responding. “That all depends on your feelings about touch,” he said.

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, prompting him to say more. 

“Yeah. If you’re the type who isn’t comfortable with touch, it could be a highly unpleasant experience. Or you could, say, just want to work out some muscle soreness or some physical pain, and not really be interested in the sensual aspects of the massage, and that’s all well and good. I find those who enjoy massage the most though, are those who love touch.”

Aziraphale thought about that for a moment. He knew he loved touch. Needed it. Craved it and never had enough. His parents had been stingy with their affection, his lovers had mostly been affectionate immediately preceding sex, and not so much afterwards. Gabriel was not much of a snuggler, and Lucien was only affectionate when he was drunk. 

“I think I’d very much enjoy a massage if that’s the case,” he said, smiling shyly at Anthony. Anthony smiled back. 

“So you enjoy sensual touch then?” he asked, something in his voice going silky and flirtatious, then he seemed to catch himself and pull back on that tone. “I mean. In general,” he added. 

“Yes, I do. Very much. Though unfortunately, I haven’t had a lot of it in my personal life.” Aziraphale felt warmth rising under his collar at the vulnerable and telling thing that he’d just let slip out of his mouth. 

“Is that so?” Anthony’s voice was genuinely curious and gentle. 

“Yes. My parents, they weren’t what you’d call affectionate exactly. They never hit me, but they also didn’t dole out hugs and kisses very often.” Azirphale wasn’t usually this open about his childhood or his relationship with his parents, but something about Anthony made him feel safe. Safe and full of butterflies. It was a strange combination, but he trusted it. 

“That’s a shame, though I can’t say my parents were any different. They were quite stern, and they showed a lot more affection for my sisters than they did me,” Anthony replied. “So, when can I get you over to the spa? I promise you won’t regret it,” he smiled again, warmly, his eyes glowing in the sunlight coming through the front windows of the shop. 

“Oh, well, whenever you’re free. My hours at the shop are flexible, so I can take off whenever.” He hoped he didn’t sound too eager.  _ Yes! Touch me, please! _

“How about this Thursday afternoon? I have a spot open at three and the rest of the night off. Maybe we could get dinner afterwards?” Aziraphale paused, thinking for a moment, and Anthony quickly added “No pressure. You can just come in for the massage and go home. Or no massage at all. It’s up to you.”

Aziraphale wondered briefly at his rush to pull back his offer, at his nervousness. “No, No, that sounds lovely. You’ll have to talk me through it a bit though, what with me, never having had a massage before.”

“Don’t worry about a thing,” Anthony replied indulgently. “Talking you through it is part of my job.”

The server arrived then with their food. Anthony had ordered a small mozzarella, tomato and basil sandwich on a ciabatta roll, and again, Aziraphale felt a little self conscious as the server placed the generous goat cheese and pear salad and a warm, golden apple tart down in front of him. Food had always been one of his favorite things, and yet, openly enjoying food was so stringently discouraged in the dating world. Aziraphale had noticed a definite dichotomy surrounding the ways people talked about food and their bodies. On one hand, all of his friends and acquaintances with few exceptions seemed obsessed with eating the “right” and “good” foods, and yet, they couldn’t seem to help themselves from indulging in foods they called “bad”. This caused them a lot of guilt. 

Aziraphale felt bad for them, never having had that conflict inside himself. He ate what he pleased. He was only regretful that his plumpness was a deterant to being considered attractive in the world of dating other gay men. It was a looks-obsessed community, and being slender and young, much like in the world of straight women, was paramount to romantic success. Aziraphale, being neither, had sort of given up on being valued for his body. He was still confused about why Anthony seemed to want to spend time with him. Someone that looked like he did must have no shortage of youthful, fit partners falling all over him for attention. 

With a sigh, he speared a generous forkful of romaine lettuce, pear and goat cheese and chewed happily, unable to prevent a small moan of pleasure from escaping his lips as the creamy texture of the cheese mixed with the sweet crunch of the pear and the crisp lettuce burst against his taste buds. And oh my, that simple balsamic dressing was quite good wasn’t it? He looked up a moment later to see that Anthony was staring at him with a strange expression on his face, his own sandwich untouched. Aziraphale paused, mid chew, feeling self conscious, wondering if he’d perhaps committed some social faux pas, and this apparently shook Anthony out of whatever he’d been thinking. The other man dropped his eyes to his own plate, picked up his sandwich and took a bite. 

“Tea?” he asked, the word muffled by a bite of bread, tomato and cheese. Aziraphale nodded, still feeling a little off balance by the gold eyed man’s scrutiny of his face as he ate. Anthony poured tea for both of them from the fat silver teapot on the table that the server had placed on a padded mat. It smelled divine and Aziraphale couldn’t wait for it to cool down enough to take a sip. He thanked Anthony with a grin and shoved another large bite of salad into his mouth, humming in pleasure as he did so. 

Again, he caught Anthony staring at him. This time, he spoke up “Do I have something stuck to my face?” he asked, self consciously and was surprised to see a blush make its way up into Anthony’s cheeks, to see him glance away, suddenly shy. 

“No, no. Not at all.” the red haired man replied, his blush deepening. “It’s just that. Well.. you’ll think I’m being strange..”

“What is it?” Aziraphale was equal parts concerned and intrigued now, his fork paused on it’s way down to spear another bite.

“It’s just, I don’t know..” Anthony seemed uncomfortable with what he was about to say. “I just… I like watching you eat.” Seeing the look of surprise on Aziraphale’s face, he rushed to elaborate “Not in some sort of perverted way. I just.. I like seeing people enjoy food. I’m a sensualist, sort of. I don’t have much of an appetite myself, but when I’m out with other men…” Here, his level of discomfort seemed to increase, if such a thing were possible. “They… well they never eat anything. They pretend to eat. Just take little bites here and there and then leave most of the food on their plates and tuck into their martinis or whatever. I just like that you… that you enjoy your food,” he finished, looking mortified, his cheeks approaching the color of a scarlet crane that hung over his left shoulder. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale was taken completely by surprise. He hadn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t this. That Anthony  _ enjoyed _ watching him eat. How… strange. How… lovely. He smiled. “Thank you I suppose? I’m unused to anyone feeling positive about my eating.” he confessed. “My last boyfriend, he… he made some rather rude comments.”

“What a twat he must have been,” Anthony said without hesitation, and Aziraphale felt his heart flutter inside his chest at the protective tone in the other man’s voice. He grinned, ducking his head at Anthony’s kind words. 

“Well, yes, he was quite a… a twat as you say. Not a very nice bloke at all. But in the beginning, I didn’t notice.” 

“So, you’re gay then?” Anthony asked tentatively. Aziraphale realized that he’d never discussed his sexual orientation with the man before. 

“Yes. Yes I am. You?” He asked, realizing belatedly that he was holding his breath waiting for an answer. 

“Definitely,” Crowley said with a sly smile. “Much to the disappointment of my parents” he added wryly. 

“Oh, well, I’ve never told mine,” Azirpahale admitted. “Would probably kill them if they found out.” 

“I can understand why you wouldn’t tell them.” Anthony replied. 

“I was raised religious,” Aziraphale said through another mouthful of salad. 

“My parents  _ tried _ raising me religious,” Anthony picked up his sandwich and took another small bite. He tried to sip his tee, but it was too hot, so he blew on it, then placed it back on the table. “My mum was a strict catholic, and my da was, well, he was religious, but wasn’t as strict as she was. He just thought being a ‘poofter’ was the worse thing his son could have been.” He squirmed a bit self consciously at the memory of his father’s disapproval. “And a son who wanted to  _ dance _ ? Even worse.”

“I’m sorry your parents weren’t supportive,” Aziraphale said, pausing for a moment to give Anthony all of his attention.

“S’alright” He shrugged it off, but reached for his tea again, remembering halfway through the motion that he’d tried it and found it too hot thirty secondes prior, so he let his hand drop again. He seemed agitated. “I got used to disappointing them, and I left home early.”

“Do you still speak to them?” Aziraphale asked gently, sensing this was a very tender subject indeed. He’d put his fork down and placed his hands in his lap, patiently waiting for Anthony to say more. 

“Yeah. They helped me out of a financial bind about a decade back, and they send cards at Christmas and I still drop em a line every once in a while. It’s awkward, and I can tell they still disapprove of me, but… they’re my parents aren’t they? So....” He trailed off, looking down at his half eaten sandwich, appetite apparently gone. 

“Well, that’s good.” Replied Aziraphale. “I don’t really speak to mine.”

“What, even though they don’t know you’re gay? Why?” Then he appeared to catch himself. “Not that being gay is the only reason a person could have for a strained relationship with their parents.”

Aziraphale paused, thinking on how best to say what he wanted to say next, deciding on directness. “I suppose they distanced themselves mostly because I abandoned the priesthood.”

“The what?” Anthony’s eyebrows were climbing in surprise, and so Aziraphale was quick to explain. 

“I wasn’t actually a priest. But I went to seminary school in preparation to becoming one. I was in line to be ordained once I graduated. That was the plan, so to speak. But I discovered that I enjoyed certain things that the catholic church frowned on, and so, I dropped out in my final year.”

“I think I can guess what things you’re referring to enjoying” Anthony said with a sly grin, and Aziraphale, afraid he might be blushing from the hot state of his cheeks, nodded swiftly with a small, embarrassed smile. 

“You’d probably be right. I had a few, shall we say  _ experiences _ that lead me to believe that I wouldn’t want to take a vow of celibacy.” He paused for a moment, “They’d laugh if they found out that I ended up celibate anyway.”

Anthony, who’d finally gotten his tea to a drinkable temperature, nearly choked on it. “What?” he asked, clearly taken aback.

“Oh my. No, please don’t think that it’s  _ voluntary _ .” Aziraphale, knowing why he wanted to reassure Anthony that he was open to having sex, but not wanting to make that fact too apparent, put up a gentle hand between them to forestall the other man’s assumptions. “It’s just that relationships… erm... They don’t work out all that well for me. So I sort of gave up trying to seek them out.” Seeing Anthony’s concerned look, he struggled to explain further. “It’s not that I’m afraid of… rather, it’s not that I don’t want… I just, I seem to be drawn to the wrong sort of man is all.” He finished lamely.

Anthony’s face had taken on a whole new expression. He looked stiff and withdrawn suddenly, leaning back in his chair. Aziraphale abruptly realized what he’d done. Implied that he might be drawn to Anthony and that Anthony might be the wrong sort of man as well. He was at a loss of how to correct that assumption without sounding like more of an utter fool than he already did. He was in an awkward position of convincing Anthony that he wasn’t included in that list of men he found to be a wrong sort, but was loath to reveal his feelings so soon. He took a deep breath. 

“What I meant, was that when I was younger, I had no sense of self. No sense of self respect. I’d been told my whole life that being gay was a horrible sin against god, and so I naturally assumed I was a sinner.” He saw Anthony relax a little and felt a rush of relief. He’d honestly rather die than let him think he was lumped in with men like Gabriel and Lucien. “I got involved with two men in relatively rapid succession who weren’t very good to me at all. After the second break up in a decade that left me heartbroken, I simply gave up. I thought, well, I thought that I didn’t deserve someone good.” He trailed off, feeling suddenly extremely vulnerable. He covered for his feelings by taking another large bite of salad, keeping his eyes trained on his plate as he chewed. 

“Thanks for telling me all that,” Anthony’s voice was soft and careful, and so Aziraphale dared to look up again at him. “If it makes you feel any better,” Anthony continued, his face relaxed and open, “I know how you feel. I haven’t always had the best taste myself.”

“Well, here’s to better decisions,” Aziraphale picked up his mug of tea and held it out to click it gently against Crowley’s and the other man obliged. They smiled at one another, and Azirpahale felt his chest fill with a familiar but long unfelt warmth. 

They chatted amiably about less triggering subjects for a while. Aziraphale asked Anthony about his dancing and Anthony asked Aziraphale about his bookshop, and they spent another hour or so in pleasant conversation. Aziraphale took his time eating the apple tart, partly because it was exquisite, and partly because he wanted to prolong their time together, but all too soon, Anthony was fishing for his wallet, insisting on paying the bill and telling Aziraphale his shift at the spa was due to start in less than an hour. They walked out onto the pavement and Anthony offered Aziraphale a lift home, chuckling when Aziraphale’s face must have betrayed how very frightened that prospect made him. “No, I don’t want to make you late, I’ll simply call a cab,” he reassured Anthony. They chatted for a couple more minutes, and Anthony reminded Aziraphale that he was due for a massage the following Thursday. 

Thursday. Four days away. Aziraphale knew by that time, he’d likely be a mess over Anthony. He could feel it already, this growing affection, this thrilling spark in the pit of his stomach that signalled a deep attraction for the man. The thought of removing his clothes and letting Anthony touch him all over his body was something he would do well to put out of his mind for the time being. He’d have to talk to Anathema about the etiquette surrounding professional massage, so as not to make an utter fool out of himself. 

The two men shook hands by way of a goodbye. Aziraphale wanted to hug Anthony, but there was a mild tension between them that didn’t feel like there was room for an embrace. Anthony got in his car and squealed away down the street, and Aziraphale sent up a small prayer of thanks that he’d offered to catch a cab. In fact, looking around at the area of the cafe, his shop and flat were a mere thirty minute walk away, so he decided to hoof it home. 

It was a pleasant walk, and his mind was filled with thoughts of a red haired man with golden eyes and a sly grin. He caught himself whistling a little as he strolled down the pavement, a silly smile plastered on his face. People would think he’d gone mad. And then he remembered that everyone these days had little devices stuck in their ears so that they could talk to people without holding a phone to the side of their head. He wondered if anyone would notice him smiling like a fool without anything in his ears at all. 


	6. Chapter 6

“No, you don’t have to take your underwear off if you don’t want to,” Anathema was reassuring him over the phone. 

“Well,” remarked Aziraphale with a grateful sigh, “that’s good to know”

“Pretty sure it’s OK if you want to be fully dressed, but that wouldn’t allow him to do much useful work,” she added, and he could hear the grin in her voice. She was mocking him gently for being prudish. 

“Come now Anathema, I’m not that bad. I’ll be comfortable if I’m allowed to keep my pants on.” He’d spent the past several minutes grilling her on massage etiquette, until he felt more reassured that he wouldn’t make a fool out of himself tomorrow. 

“Remember,” she reminded him again, “this isn’t about sex. Try to keep your mind off of naughty things and just enjoy the loving touch.”

“Yes, thank you my dear. I’m quite certain I’ll be able to keep my mind out of the gutter for sixty minutes stitched together.”

“Silly me,” she replied, “I assumed having a smoking hot man you’re desperately keen on shagging, sensually rubbing lotion into every inch of your skin might get you a bit randy. It seems I was mistaken.”

“You’re evil” he replied, blushing and grinning. “Pure evil. And I should know. I studied up on the subject for quite a few years.”

That won him a fond chuckle on the other end of the line. “Are you nervous?” She asked. 

“It’s just a massage,” he replied, pretending at being casual, when inside he was anything but. “People get them all the time. I’ll be fine. Better now, thanks to your input Anathema dear.”

“Break a leg,” she replied with fondness in her voice “Or rather, that’s for the theater isn’t it? Don’t break anything.” 

  
  


____________________________________________

Thursday had come far quicker than he’d thought it would. The shop saw an uptick in business, and he’d had a nice dinner at the Youngs with Anathema and her new beau Newt on Tuesday night. He was a nice lad. Very soft spoken, with kind eyes and a handsome face. He was a bit gawky and hesitant, and clearly utterly besotted with Anathema, but then again, who wouldn’t be? The woman was beautiful, charming, enthusiastic for life. 

He’d tried to keep Anthony out of his mind as much as possible, knowing that indulging in fantasies about the man would only make him more of a nervous wreck when he saw him again. But it was difficult not to think of him. In fact, he thought of him quite often during the day, and those thoughts only intensified when he finally lay his head down at night for his customary four or five hours of sleep. He desired Anthony, that much was clear. But there was more than simple lust involved. He also longed to learn more about the copper haired man. More about his past, his present, his plans for the future, the inner workings of his mind. Anthony was clearly very intelligent and talented and had a gentle side as well. 

He was afraid he was falling in love, and he didn’t have a good road map for how to navigate that particular situation. All he’d ever known of love before this involved feeling inferior and lost and in over his head, and although the way he felt about Anthony did make him feel more than a little that he were out of his depth, it had nothing of the hopeless anguish of his relationships with emotionally unavailable Gabriel and cold, derisive Lucien. There was a warmth to Anthony that Aziraphale’s prior lovers simply did not possess. Aziraphale knew that only having two relationships under his belt did not qualify him as an expert on love, but he was also pretty certain that Anthony wasn’t like the other men he’d known. He seemed careful. Gentle. Thoughtful. He was patient and kind, and just a bit racy in a thrilling way. Aziraphale could not be certain Anthony was open and available for something more, but he recognized that he’d started to yearn for more from the red haired man. 

And of course, because he was who he was, he had dark moments as well in the intervening days between their lunch and his massage appointment. Dark moments where he thought Anthony was still only trying to get him into bed for a quick fling. Memories of how lithe and sexy and beautiful the man’s body was when he danced on stage, and how plump and unremarkable Aziraphale’s body was by comparison. Moments when he thought of how worldly and experienced Anthony must be. How he’d likely had men falling all over themselves to get close to him. In moments like these, Aziraphale could not summon up even the smallest thing that Anthony could see in him that he might want. 

He admonished himself for having these doubts. Then, he admonished himself for the heated, longing imaginings that flitted through his mind when he let his guard down. By the time Thursday afternoon rolled around, he was a right mess, just as he’d feared he’d be. But there was no fixing it. He’d simply have to face the firing squad. He caught a cab to Anthony’s spa and walked cautiously through the gleaming glass doors and up to the receptionist, who was of course a beautiful woman in her early twenties with long, wavy blond hair and impeccable make up. “Hello sir, welcome to Spa Emerald, how may I help you?” She was polite yet slightly aloof. 

“Um, hello miss. I have an appointment, with Anthony, for three pm.” He said, noticing with minor dismay that his voice shook a little from nervousness. The spa was immaculate and carefully decorated in the way of high end restaurants or posh tea houses. Tasteful potted plants and framed pictures of mountains, lakes and waterfalls adorned the small waiting area, along with a few chairs that looked deeply uncomfortable and too small to accomodate Azirphale’s girth. 

“Yes… Aziraphale is it?” She asked with a polite smile. He nodded in confirmation and she motioned to the waiting room. “He’ll be with you shortly, he’s just finishing up with his most recent client. Won’t you have a seat?”

Aziraphale opted to avoid sitting in one of the small, rickety looking chairs and instead stood awkwardly next to a potted plant, feeling his heartbeat increase and his palms growing damp with nervous energy. This was not a place he felt he belonged. He was used to the clutter of old bookshops, and charming little restaurants with well worn table cloths where people knew him. This place was polished and gleaming and delicate. He was afraid he’d break something if he moved too suddenly. 

He was so on edge that he jumped slightly when the door next to the receptionists’ station opened and admitted a dazed looking middle aged woman, her hair slightly disheveled, her face pink and creased. She looked like she’d just woken up from a long nap. “How did it go?” Asked the blond young receptionist as the woman tottered up to the front desk. 

“Oh fantastic as usual. That man is a wonder,” the woman sighed happily as she fished a credit card out of her bag and proceeded to pay for her treatment. Aziraphale was heartened by how happy and relaxed she looked. Maybe he could feel that way too after this experience was over. Right now, however, he felt on edge, out of place, nervous. 

“He’ll be ready in just five minutes” the receptionist called over to Aziraphale after the woman had left. Aziraphale smiled and nodded at her, feeling his stomach tense at the approaching appointment. 

And then Anthony had walked out of the door by the reception area and Azriaphale’s heart had stopped beating for a minute at the sight of him. He wore a pair of loose trousers, black and soft and had on a form fitting black t-shirt, emblazoned with the spa’s insignia, a green leaf backed by a fingernail moon. His hair was pulled into a neat bun at the nape of his neck and his shades were off. He saw Aziraphale and his face lit up with a smile so bright that Aziraphale almost couldn’t bring himself to smile back for a few seconds. “Anthony. Hello,” he managed to get out as the other man walked up and pulled him into a warm embrace. 

Apparently, hugging was back on the table. Aziraphale gladly accepted the physical contact, giving Anthony’s slight body a gentle squeeze before letting him go. “Follow me, I’ll show you the ropes.” Anthony grinned as he walked back through the door, and Aziraphale rushed to follow him. 

He was lead down a dimly lit hallway, past several doors that he assumed must be other treatment rooms, to an open door, through which Anthony ushered him. At the center of the room was a flat massage table, made up like a bed with sheets and a warm looking blanket, only there was no pillow. 

“So, first things first,” Anthony began, closing the door behind them to give them privacy. “You can feel free to leave your pants on if you want, but if you leave anything else on, you won’t get the full experience. Either way though, I’ll leave that up to you, you can undress to your comfort level. You’ll be carefully draped the entire time regardless.” He looked to Aziraphale for confirmation and Aziraphale nodded to show he understood. 

“Secondly, is there anything in particular I can focus on with you today?” The man was being professional, going through his normal routine, and Aziraphale felt a flush of relief to have this structure to cling to.

“Nothing in particular,” he responded. “I honestly ignore my body most of the time, so whatever you think is best..”

“Ah,” remarked Anthony thoughtfully. “I’d recommend focusing on your breathing. I’ll do a bit of breath work with you at the beginning, but any time you feel yourself getting up into your head too much, thinking about bills or tomorrow’s schedule and what not, it’s a good idea to take a deep, cleansing breath. That will help bring your focus back into your body. Does that make sense?”

Aziraphale thought it did. He nodded. 

“Alright. I’ll check in about pressure, but outside of that, I don’t talk much during my massages, so I’ll leave that up to you.” He seemed to steady himself for a moment and then continued “And just so you know Aziraphale, this isn’t anything to do with sex. I know you know that, but people end up getting intimidated sometimes by the sensuality of professional massage and wires can get crossed. This is about relaxation and healing and enjoyment, but not about sex.” Aziraphale nodded again, reflexively as his mind absorbed what Anthony had just said. 

“Also, to be perfectly blunt, if you get an erection, don’t worry about it,” he continued and Aziraphale felt his entire body grow hot with embarrassment. Did Anthony know how he’d been feeling about him?. “It’s a semi common occurrence with clients,” the other man continued, “and I wanted you to know that I won’t take it personally, and I won’t be upset or put off by it. Not that I’m _expecting_ you to get an erection, only that it’s a thing that happens.” He was looking at Aziraphale in a very frank manner, without a hint of flirtation, and so Aziraphale nodded again, unable to speak. 

“I wouldn’t even bring it up, but you’re a beginner, and I’d consider you a friend, and so I don’t want you stressing over the possibility.”

Aziraphale let out a slightly shaky breath and smiled a small smile, nodding again. “Thank you.” he said. “I had worried a bit about how my body would react. Glad that it’s something you’re used to dealing with.”

“Alright then!” Anthony seemed relieved that they’d cleared the air. “I’ll start you face up, under the covers. I’ll give you time to get undressed, just give us a shout when you’re all set.”

He turned then and left, closing the door gently behind him. Aziraphale was reminded of trips to the doctors, when they’d leave him alone to get naked and put on that horrid paper gown. He swiftly undressed, not wanting to keep Anthony waiting, and in a daring move, he stripped down completely, removing his pants along with his trousers. In for a penny in for a pound right? He swiftly climbed under the sheets and the blanket and settled into the soft cushiness of the massage table. It was beyond comfortable against his naked skin. “Ready!” he said it loudly enough to be heard by Anthony on the other end of the door, and then tried to calm his racing heartbeat as Anthony stepped back into the room and shut the door again behind him. 

He heard Anthony settling in at the head of the massage table, out of his line of vision, but he could smell him, smell his spicy cologne, and something else… lavender? 

“Alright, what I’m going to ask you to do first is to take three deep breaths in, slowly, through your nose and let them out through your mouth,” he said, his voice soft and quieter than usual… soothing. Aziraphale complied, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply, he was surprised to smell the lavender smell increasing and opened his eyes again to see that Antony was holding his hands cupped just over Aziraphale’s face. He had some sort of lavender oil on his palms and that was where the smell was coming from. Interesting… He let the first breath out and then slowly breathed in again, letting the smell of the oil seep into his nasal passages and up into his brain. He could feel himself slowly relaxing into the soft yet supportive table beneath him. 

The third breath came and went, and with it, even more of Aziraphale’s general anxiety. Before the air had quite left his lungs on the third exhale, he felt Anthony’s hands come up to bracket the sides of his face, cradling his face in his hands, and a nervous thrill went through him. Suddenly he was reminded of the fact that a man he fancied quite a bit was about to touch him all over his body, and he felt his heart rate kick into overdrive. 

“You’re thinking. I can tell,” Anthony said, his voice gently chiding. “Would you take one more deep breath please? It will help you get out of your thinking mind and into your body.”

Aziraphale complied, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breath. Feeling the material of the sheets, the weight of the blanket, the soft touch of Anthony’s hands to the sides of his face. He exhaled long and slow and felt Anthony begin to use clever fingers to massage his scalp, his fingertips scrubbing patterns through Aziraphale’s hair, digging gently into the muscles that stretched across his skull, and _oh dear lord_ it felt so good. He suppressed a moan of pleasure and tried to relax into it. 

Anthony continued scrubbing at his scalp with his fingertips, eventually gently turning Aziraphale’s head in his hands to reach the back of his head and nape of his neck, and the tingling pleasure of it _did_ eventually make Aziraphale moan softly. He was slightly embarrassed by his outburst, but also, too enthralled by the touch to care. It felt wonderful to have someone touch him this way. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed it. It had been most of his life that he’d been craving this kind of intimacy. Anthony had returned his head to its original position and had started working his ears between his thumbs and forefingers and the sensation was beyond amazing. How could he have ever guessed that there were so many muscles connected to his ears, and how had no one thought to rub them in all the fifty years of his life before now?

“May I use a little lotion on your face?” Anthony asked softly and Aziraphale nodded. He then felt a soft sweep of lightly lotioned hands spreading across his forehead, then his cheekbones, then down to gently massage his chin and down the line of his jaw. Again, these were not parts of his body anyone had ever touched this way. As Anthony’s fingers worked their way gently into the masseter muscles at the juncture of his jaw, the muscles he used to chew, the muscles he used to clench his jaw when he was anxious or worried, he felt that tension break up and float away. It was the most intense feeling. As if he’d been holding onto ghosts of anxiety, and Anthony’s deft fingers were exorcising these feelings and banishing them out into the air. 

He heard a soft clicking noise and then carefully, slowly, deliberately, Anthony’s slick, warm hands were sweeping across his pectoral muscles, around the sides of his shoulders and across the top of his back and up his neck to the edge of his hairline. In one, smooth, sensual motion, he’d spread a layer of lotion across the top of Aziraphale’s chest, and the top of his back and all the way up his neck. It was economic, but also felt like heaven. As Anthony’s fingers repeated the motion, pressing down into his pectorals a bit at the beginning and dragging firm fingertips through the muscles running up his neck at the end, Azirpahale felt himself take a deep breath and let it out, felt his tension fleeing with it. 

“There you go,” Anthony said gently, as if speaking to a child he was cradling in his arms “That’s it. A nice big release.” He then proceeded to use both hands to start kneading the muscles at the tops of Aziraphale’s shoulders, and Aziraphale let out an embarrassing noise.

“I’m sorry!” he whispered, his cheeks heating at the indecent sound he’d made as a result of Anthony’s skilled fingers working through the tense muscles of his upper trapezius. 

“Please don’t apologize. Make whatever noises you want. I find it flattering. Just don’t moan too loud or they’ll wonder what we’re up to in here.” The flirtatious tone in Anthony’s voice was light and ironic, not meant as a come on, more as a joke. Aziraphale smiled and nodded, keeping his eyes closed so as to fully enjoy the feelings he was experiencing. 

After kneading Aziraphale's shoulders for a minute or two, Anthony’s soft hands turned his head to the side and began running his thumb down the long strips of muscle that made their way from base of Aziraphale’s skull to where his neck met his shoulder. More fantastic feelings unfurled under his touch, tingling, aching feelings as his tense neck muscles were stretched by the pad of Anthony’s thumb. It was indescribably pleasurable, but also it was a reminder of how very much Aziraphale held his tension inside his body. His neck muscles had been crying out for attention and he’d ignored them for pretty much the entirety of his life. His father had squeezed his neck a few times, companionably when he was a small boy. Lovers had stroked his neck while kissing him. No one had ever dug their thumb into the tense, wire tight muscles and made them sing like this. 

All of a sudden, he realized that he needed more touch. He needed far _far_ more touch than he’d ever allowed himself before. Dear god, he was starving for it, and the deep well of pleasure and gratitude he felt for Anthony, giving him this thing that he’d always needed so badly and had never even known he’d needed… it rushed up inside him, and suddenly he was crying. 

He was mortified as he felt tears leap to his eyes and felt his body start to shake with sobs. Anthony stopped what he was doing and returned to clasping Aziraphale’s face in his hands from his position at the head of the massage table. “It’s OK.” He whispered gently, cradling Aziraphle’s face and leaning over him to whisper softly in his ear. “It’s OK to cry. It happens all the time. I’m here. I’ve got you. This is perfectly normal.”

His reassurance was very helpful, because Aziraphale couldn’t seem to stem the tide of his tears and had just been feeling extremely uncomfortable, as if he’d broken the mood somehow. Apparently, he had not. 

“People sometimes cry when I do body work with them.” Anthony continued gently “Their bodies are holding onto a lot of stuff, and it only comes to the surface when the body really relaxes. Just let it go. It’s OK.” 

Aziraphale nodded, “I’m sorry.” he apologized, even though Anthony had told him it was perfectly fine “I just now realized no one has ever touched me enough.” He laughed wetly at the silliness of it all. At how he’d let his body get so neglected. Even when he’d been in relationships with Gabriel or Lucien, touch was something that happened as a lead up to sex. Neither man was particularly physically affectionate. His parents had been stiff and distant physically. Aziraphale had probably been drawn to his past partners for this very quality. Because he needed, for some reason, to sit just outside the warm door of affection and not be invited completely inside. He must have some broken, old pattern surrounding emotional unavailability. 

“Try another deep breath or two if you’re up for it,” Anthony’s soft voice broke through his thoughts and he complied, breathing deeply, feeling his sobs fade away into another deep breath. Anthony was right. Breathing took him out of his thinking mind and helped his awareness settle back into his body. After a few more breaths, Anthony asked if it was alright to continue, and when Aziraphale nodded, he began again, working his thumbs down the muscles on the side of Aziraphale’s neck. This time, Aziraphale could simply enjoy it for the touch and the tension release, now that the grief it had pulled to the surface had dissipated. 

Anthony rose from his seat at Aziraphale’s head and worked on his right arm, sliding hands up the length of Aziraphale’s arm and over his shoulder and down again in long sweeps, then stripped his thumbs up the long strands of muscle that ran up Azirapahle’s forearms. Afterwards, he dug his thumbs into the palms of Aziraphale’s hands and worked each one of his fingers in a tight, squeezing grip from base to tip. Aziraphale suppressed another moan. Dear god, how had he gone his entire life without having his hands massaged like this? Hands that had lifted and shelved and opened and closed countless books. He felt a moment of regret that he hadn’t done more with them than worship volumes of paper, bound together with leather and wood. Anthony moved to his left side and worked his left arm and left hand and Aziraphale let out another deep breath. 

Next Anthony carefully undraped Aziraphale’s leg, making sure his crotch was covered but that the entirety of his leg and hip was exposed. He slid his hands up the length of Aziraphale’s right leg with a long sweeping motion, all the way to his hip and down. Aziraphale was belatedly glad he’d removed his pants so that he could allow Anthony access to the side of his hip. After a few more sweeps up and down the length of his leg, Anthony worked his hands into the thick quadricep muscles of his right upper thigh and Aziraphale couldn’t help but moan again, softly. The large muscle group was overworked from walking all over town in shoes not quite made for walking, and in going up and down the rolling ladder in the shop. He felt the tension swiftly melt away from his upper thigh as tingling, pleasantly aching sensations radiated from beneath the firm motions of Anthony’s hands.

It was while Anthony was working on the left thigh that Aziraphale started getting a little aroused. He couldn’t help it. The feel of Anthony’s hands, kneading the flesh of his inner thigh, suddenly evoked thoughts of Anthony gripping both thighs in his hands, spreading Aziraphale’ legs apart and sliding between them. Before the thoughts could bloom into a full blown sexual fantasy, and before the gentle twitching of his cock beneath the sheets could become an actual erection, he took Anthony’s advice and breathed deeply through his nose and let out the breath in a long shushing noise through his pursed lips. It worked. After another couple of breaths, he could feel the thoughts receding, and the lovely feeling of having his muscles lovingly relieved of stress and tension, returning to the foreground of his mind. 

Next, Anthony moved his attention to Aziraphale’s feet, which felt indescribable. He had to continually hold back moans of pleasure as the other man kneaded his thumbs into the bottoms of Aziraphale’s feet and worked pinching fingers down the length of each one of Aziraphale’s apparently sore and overworked toes. “I know it’s not with your whole aesthetic thing, but you should really invest in a pair of trainers,” he heard Anthony say by his feet. “Those old fashioned shoes are fine for walking around your shop, but you’re ruining your feet by walking about town in them.”

Aziraphale chuckled self consciously. “I know that’s the case, only I find trainers to be so horrid. Like large, white blocks on one’s feet. And they hardly go with the clothing I have.” He felt slightly relieved at the friendly patter they were engaged in, as it took him out of the sensual trance he’d been under since the massage started. He was a little afraid Anthony would touch some other part of his body that would have him alternately sobbing with repressed grief or writhing in sexual desire. His body at this point was a mysterious abandoned house, and Anthony was opening long unopened doors, brushing aside curtains full of dust and turning on lamps with water stained shades. 

“You know you don’t have to buy a pair that are large and white don’t you?” Anthony’s voice had taken on a gently mocking tone as he stripped his thumb down the taut muscles and tendons under the base of his big toe down to his heel and Aziraphale’s eyes rolled into the back of his head momentarily. “They sell all kinds of designs and colors. You could probably find a pair that are quite subtle and match the clothes you have. I could help you pick them out if you’d like.”

The implication that he wanted to see Aziraphale again, to go shopping together, made a warmth pool behind Aziraphale’s breastbone and he sighed, relaxing back into the heavenly feelings of having his feet worshiped by Anthony’s skilled hands. 

Eventually, he had to turn over and put his face into that funny little pillow with the hole in the middle so that Anthony could work on the back of his body. He felt far less exposed in this position, and had the added bonus of his front being hidden from Anthony’s eyes, which took some of the pressure off him to try and keep his thoughts pure. He kept them pure anyway, because this experience wasn’t about sex, but they glimmered there on the horizon, these fantasies of what else Anthony’s hands could do, just within reach, but held carefully at bay. 

The back massage was indescribable. A whole new world of tense muscle groups sang under Anthony’s slowly sweeping fingertips. Aziraphale had forgotten how many moving parts his body had, spending most of his time working in the shop, or bent over a book, or taking long walks around the neighborhood, to the park, to the market. He simply lived his life and let his body support him. He ate when he was hungry, masturbated when he got too randy, slept his few, fitful hours when he needed sleep. But he never really took care of himself, outside of having a nice cuppa or a takeaway curry now and then. Anthony was taking care of him now, in the most loving, dedicated and pleasurable way. It made tears threaten to return to Aziraphale’s eyes, but he held them back, not wanting to drip on the nice, hardwood floor of the spa room, and not wanting to ask for a tissue to betray his unstable emotional state. 

All too soon, Anthony was making final, gentle sweeps of his hands down the length of Aziraphale’s back, pulling the sheets back up over him and smoothing them with loving hands as a closing move to the massage. “Thank you,” he said, close to Aziraphale’s ear, as if Anthony had just received a gift from Aziraphale, and not the other way around. “Take your time getting up. I’ll be right outside when you’re dressed.” And with that, he left. 

Aziraphale could hear the door click softly shut behind him. He lay, face down for a few seconds, trying to summon up the desire to move. Once he’d clumsily foisted himself into a seated position on the table, he scrubbed at his face, feeling as if he’d just woken up from the most healing of naps. He felt light headed and giddy and relaxed and languid all at the same time. He eventually made his way onto his feet and found his way into his (regrettably) several layers of clothing that he’d folded neatly in a stack on a chair in the corner. They’d been far easier to remove before the massage had started, when he’d been tense and accustomed to tension. Now, he was loose and warm and full of loving kindness and clothing seemed restrictive and confining. He had a mad urge to walk home naked and giggled a bit to himself at the thought. 

Eventually, he was fully dressed and opened the door to see Anthony standing there, looking peaceful and beautiful and insanely sexy in his black clothing, his sinewy arms crossed over his narrow chest, his golden eyes smiling. Aziraphale felt his face split into an enormous grin at the sight of the other man. 

“How are you feeling?” Anthony asked, returning Aziraphale’s smile. 

“I’m not quite sure words would do my feelings justice at the moment.” Aziraphle scrubbed a shy hand over the back of his neck and ducked his head, his face growing hot across his cheeks. “I feel like I’ve been reborn.” 

This seemed to please Anthony, whose grin widened and whose pale eyes sparkled upon hearing Aziraphale’s words. “Good,” he remarked simply, warmly. 

“How do I..?” Aziraphale let the question about payment hang in the air between them.

“You simply walk up front and they’ll handle payment up there,” Anthony replied, still grinning. He steered Aziraphale towards the front room at the end of the short hall where they were currently standing, and Aziraphale tottered in that direction, like a toddler just learning to walk. He heard Anthony chuckle softly behind him, and he couldn’t blame the man for his amusement. 

He must have looked a sight, his hair mussed, his face slack, eyes glassy. He wandered to the front desk and the receptionist greeted him with a bright, knowing smile. “You’ve just seen Anthony right? Isn’t he fantastic?” 

“Yes. He is. That was… That was wonderful” Aziraphale managed to get out as he fished in his jacket pocket for his wallet. The receptionist told him what he owed and he handed over a credit card. She asked if he’d tipped Anthony in cash, or would he want to leave a tip on the card. “The tip!” He slapped a hand to his forehead. How could he have forgotten to bring cash for a tip? “I’ll put it on the card.” he said, feeling sheepish at his lapse. When the receptionist asked how much he wanted to tip, he replied “forty pounds please,” which made her eyebrows creep up to her hairline in surprise. It was almost half of the price of the massage, but Aziraphale would have tipped more if he thought it wouldn’t make Anthony uncomfortable. He had received a priceless gift today. The gift of remembering that he had a body that needed caring for. That he needed touch more than he had ever allowed himself to. 

He finished paying and accepted his receipt, then went to squeeze himself into one of the uncomfortable chairs in the lobby to wait for Anthony. They were to go to an early dinner next, after Anthony washed up and changed and clocked out. Aziraphale was just contemplating where they might be headed to eat, when the door to the spa opened and a man walked in that he knew only too well. 

Gabriel. It was Gabriel. Looking tall and impeccably dressed in a slate gray suit and pristine white button down. He didn’t see Aziraphale at first, striding up to the counter to talk to the receptionist, and Aziraphale wished he could disappear behind a potted plant. Eventually though, Gabriel turned his head to look about the waiting room while the receptionist checked her computer system for his appointment information, and his eyes fell on Aziraphale. 

“Azi!” he exclaimed, clearly shocked to see Aziraphale there. “What are _you_ doing here?”

Aziraphale wished he could snap his fingers and disappear, but, the laws of physics being what they were, he simply smiled thinly and stood from the chair. “Hello Gabriel” he said numbly, his heart pounding away in his ears, making him feel like he might pass out. He hadn’t seen his ex since the night Gabriel had so coldly told him that it wouldn’t work out between them. He could still remember the sharp pangs of grief that lanced through him as he held Gabriel’s purloined jumper, chasing the man’s smell with his nose buried in the fabric, sobbing out his anguish over being dumped so heartlessly and suddenly. And here Gabriel was, tall and handsome and confident as ever, a look of real surprise painting his features as Aziraphale stepped tentatively closer and held out his hand for Gabriel to take it. 

“Come now, none of that,” Gabriel smirked and pulled Aziraphale into an embrace, just as Aziraphale heard the door to the treatment hallway open and saw Anthony step through it out of the corner of his eye. He felt Gabriel’s thick arms wrap him up in a far-too warm, far-too affectionate hug, squeezing him tight. He had no choice but to hug back, gingerly, carefully. Meanwhile, his insides, so calm before Gabriel had arrived, were suddenly a tumultuous mess of conflicting feelings. Fear that Anthony would get the wrong idea about him and Gabriel. Surprise and awe at being back in Gabriel’s arms after years of not seeing him at all. Confusion over what this meant. 

Gabriel finally let him go, holding him at arm’s length. “You look good, Azi,” he said with the calm confidence of the man who’d done the severing of the ties between them. “I’ve missed you.”

Aziraphale stepped back away from Gabriel with a stiff smile, putting distance between himself and the taller man, trying to escape the seductive smell of Gabriel’s cologne, which evoked memories of the sex they’d had, the things they’d said to one another. He turned to a surprised looking Anthony. “Anthony, this is my, erm... friend Gabriel. Gabriel, this is Anthony.” He was trapped in a social nightmare. Gabriel had been closeted when they’d dated and Anthony wasn’t his boyfriend, and so neither was easy to categorize. The red haired man was standing awkwardly, hand on his hip. He'd changed into a pair of jeans and a soft t-shirt after his shift.

“Come on Azi, we were closer than friends weren’t we?” Apparently, Gabriel was comfortable with airing his prior connection to Aziraphale in front of strangers now. That was new. “We used to date,” Gabriel explained as he reached out a hand to shake Anthony’s. Anthony accepted Gabriel’s hand and shook it briefly, giving the tall man a stiff smile and a brief nod of the head. 

“Is that so?” Anthony asked. “Well, you must have excellent taste then,” his grin as he looked up into Gabriel’s broad, square jawed face held just a hint of mischief, and Aziraphale felt his face heat with a very diverse mix of feelings. He saw Gabriel’s eyes widen at the comment. 

“Are you two…” he let the question linger without finishing it, waving his hand vaguely between Anthony and Aziraphale. 

“We’re just friends,” Anthony offered, and Aziraphale felt his heart drop into his feet. _Just friends_. 

“Well then! It’s nice to meet Azi’s friend!” Was that relief in Gabriel’s voice? Aziraphale wished again that he could simply disappear. That he could take Anthony with him and magically just appear inside his bookshop, to get away from Gabriel’s probing questions and his mocking eyes. And god damn it, the man looked _good._ He’d always looked good to Aziraphale. So tall and broad shouldered. His arms and chest nicely defined from hours spent in high end gyms. His clothing was always perfect, his hair always looked like the hair of a newscaster or the star of a reality television show. Never a strand out of place. And oh how shabby and useless Aziraphale had always felt by comparison. 

Unbidden, his mind flew back to the nights when he marvelled at Gabriel’s perfect body working above him, at Gabriel’s handsome face suffused with bliss as the larger man had reached his pleasure inside Aziraphale. Now was _not_ the time to remember such things, and yet Aziraphale couldn’t help himself. Gabriel had been his first real boyfriend. They’d shared a lot, and yet, he’d still heartlessly abandoned him at a moment’s notice. 

Anthony was still standing there, arms crossed over his chest, stiff but polite smile on his face and Gabriel was looking at Aziraphale with something approaching affection. Aziraphale cleared his throat and turned to Gabriel. “We were just headed out to dinner, so… It was nice seeing you again Gabriel.” He offered his hand and Gabriel took it and squeezed it, gripping Azirpahale’s shoulder with a warm hand and smiling far too intimately at him. 

“Yeah, Azi. Very good to see you. We should catch up soon? Maybe get dinner sometime? My number’s still the same, is yours?” 

“Erm.. yes,” Azirpahale replied awkwardly, trying to inch past Gabriel to the door, hoping Anthony would follow him. “Yes. Same number. Same as always,” He babbled nervously. To his utter relief, Anthony did trail behind him, Gabriel gave the red headed man a condescending clap on the shoulder by way of a goodbye. They made it out onto the street and Aziraphale immediately apologized.

“I’m sorry for that,” he said, nervousness shooting down his arms and legs and pooling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Sorry for what?” Anthony said casually, his tone betrayed by the tension radiating from every pore of his body. “We all run into an ex now and then.”

“I know. I just… It didn’t end all that happily, and I wasn’t expecting to see him ever again, and… and… I just wished he hadn’t shown up immediately after such a lovely experience. The massage, I mean.” He knew he sounded like he was still apologizing, validating, explaining. He really didn’t have anything to apologize for, only… he had let the sight of Gabriel wake up some old feelings he’d thought were long dead. Why did it feel like he’d just cheated on Anthony when they weren’t yet a couple? Would they ever be a couple? He hated how his head was spinning with uncomfortable scenarios and assumptions as the two of them walked side by side down the street. 

He could tell he’d backed himself into a corner where he was apologizing for running into an ex lover. People who weren’t romantically interested in each other had no reason to apologize for ex lovers. People who weren’t romantically interested in each other wouldn’t have cause to feel jealousy or discomfort over such a run in. And yet here he was, unable to stop trying to reassure Anthony of something he couldn’t even define. He realized his faux pas and redirected the conversation. “So… where are we headed?” he asked, forcing his voice to be bright and casual. 

Anthony ignored his question, “You can talk about him. If you want.” He offered. “I know it’s rough sometimes to run into someone you used to be close to. Brings up… old feelings. You can talk about it to me. If you want to.” He kept his eyes trained on the pavement in front of them, but his posture had relaxed somewhat. 

“Thank you, Anthony.” Aziraphale took a deep breath, grateful that the man walking beside him wasn’t put off, and was actually open to listening to his talk about his ex. “Perhaps I shall feel the need to talk about him when we’re at dinner. Where are we headed?” he repeated, hoping to draw Anthony into more neutral ground for the time being. 

“Oh, I know a nice sushi place down the way,” Anthony replied grinning. “I hope you like sushi.”

“I adore sushi!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Excellent choice.” He beamed at Anthony and clapped his hands in delight. Just a little too happy to have a change of subject. They walked the several blocks to the sushi restaurant engaged in casual chatter, about Anthony’s job at the spa, about when he’d be performing on stage next (this coming Friday evening) and the pressures and enjoyable parts of being an exotic dancer.

“All the other boys at the club are in their twenties and thirties,” Anthony was saying, “and then there’s me, almost fifty and bringing in some of the biggest crowds. They can get a bit catty from time to time. They don’t realize it's because I’m a professional dancer with years of experience with ballet and modern dance under my belt. They assume it’s because I think myself better than them. That I think myself more shaggable or something. It’s frustrating to have to put up with the snide comments about my age and my body.”

“What negative thing could they possibly say about your body?” Aziraphale asked before he could censor himself. 

Anthony ducked his head, grinning self consciously at the subtle compliment. “You know. That I’m old. Saggy. Wrinkled. Washed up. It’s surprising how cut throat pretty twenty five year old exotic dancers can get.” He chuckled and ran a nervous hand through his hair. 

“I can see how that would be irritating,” Aziraphale paused for a moment before speaking again. “I think what you do is amazing.” he said shyly. 

“Thanks,” Anthony responded, his cheeks coloring just a little. “Not everyone agrees with you. They act like exotic dancing, stripping, is something base and artless, when in fact, it involves a lot of skill and talent. I’m not the only bloke at the club who does fancy pole work. And some of these blokes are amazing athletes, amazing dancers. The fact that it’s connected with sexuality is what makes people think they have the right to cast aspersions and belittle it.”

Aziraphale thought back more than a little guiltily to the way he’d judged the club where Anthony worked when he’d first seen it. He nodded, but stayed silent. Not feeling like he had the right to chime in on Anthony’s side of the argument having so recently (if silently) cast those very aspersions himself. 

They arrived at the sushi place after a few more minutes of walking. Anthony held the door open for Aziraphale, then entered after him.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Anthony had to work hard to pretend not to be rattled by the appearance of Aziraphale’s ex, Gabriel. There was something about the man he felt deeply intimidating. Probably because he represented everything Anthony wasn’t. Successful in an acceptable, laudable corporate way. Handsome in a broad shouldered, square jawed way. His clothing was posh and immaculate. His demeanor was confident, bordering precariously on arrogance. He’d brought the tall American man up in conversation on the way to the restaurant, hoping for a bit more reassurance from Aziraphale that the man was not a threat to their burgeoning connection. 

Aziraphale in response hadn’t been very forthcoming. It had left Anthony in an uncomfortable middle ground. Wondering what this man meant to Aziraphale. Wondering if maybe Aziraphale might still be pining after Gabriel in some way. He hated that he was getting so worked up over their run in with the taller man, but he supposed it was a sign that he was more interested in Aziraphale than he’d let on to himself before now. He wasn’t normally prone to jealousy. Being an exotic dancer, and dating other dancers and men who tended to conform to a very strict beauty standard, he was used to dating those who drew others in, or who danced semi-nude in front of large groups of men. But this was different. Aziraphale had seemed so very flustered by Gabriel’s appearance. It wasn’t animosity though that had caused the blond man’s discomfort. It was anxiety and stress. Gabriel got Aziraphale riled up somehow. There were feelings there that Anthony didn’t understand and what he didn’t understand made him very nervous. 

They were quickly seated at a small wooden table and both of them picked up their laminated menus and sat in silence, perusing the fare. The waitress came over, and had to be politely forestalled when after five minutes, Aziraphale still hadn’t decided what he wanted. A couple of minutes later, Anthony realized he wasn’t even seeing the page in front of him. His mind was too stuck on the appearance of the other man, who’d so casually called Aziraphale “Azi” and had embraced him so familiarly, and had said they should ‘catch up’. 

“I think I need to tell you about Gabriel,” Aziraphale chimed in, as if on cue. “I’m having trouble focusing because of our little run in, and I don’t want his ghost coloring our evening.”

“Like I said,” Anthony replied, heart racing and trying to hide how very much he wanted Aziraphale to talk about this, “You’re welcome to tell me anything you want about him. I’m all ears.” 

“Thank you Anthony,” the other man replied, sighing as he placed the menu down on the table. He paused for another moment, clearly collecting his thoughts before continuing. “I met Gabriel at a very uncertain time in my life. I’d dropped out of seminary, had opened the bookshop, largely funded by an inheritance left to me by a great aunt. If she’d known of my sexual orientation, she never would have left me the money, and believe me, that still weighs on me. But even with the inheritance, I’d worked for many years as the personal assistant to a wealthy book publisher, Gerald Sandalphon. Unsure if you’ve ever heard of him,” Anthony shook his head gently and Aziraphale continued. “Either way, I was able to amass some prodigious savings that helped with the opening of the shop and with my expenses above and beyond the inheritance from Aunt Beatrice.” Here he paused, looking contrite. “I didn’t want you to think I was some sort of trust fund kid. I know how to work. I worked hard for Mr. Sandalphon for fifteen years. Even after the opening of the shop.”

“I’d never judge you for how you make your money,” Anthony said, knowing that Aziraphale had already somehow accepted his jobs as a seller of illicit drugs and a dancer for other men’s pleasure. 

Aziraphale nodded and smiled at him in acknowledgement before continuing. “So there I was. No longer financially beholden to my parents. No longer on the fast track to becoming a priest. Having my own bookshop, and no one to really share it with. My romantic history before Gabriel was, shall I say, spotty at best? I won’t go into details, but suffice it to say, I hadn’t been with many people in any sort of sustained way before I met him.”

Anthony nodded encouragingly, keeping his face neutral, as he waited for Aziraphale to continue. He took off his shades so that the other man could see his eyes. He’d been removing them more and more around Aziraphale. Showing trust. Welcoming the other man in increment by increment. The glasses were Anthony’s way of hiding his feelings. Hiding his mental state, his facial expressions. They were a protection, and back in his coke days, they’d hidden his wasted eyes from the world. He didn’t want them hiding his eyes from Aziraphale at times like this, when it mattered. 

“He was so glamorous,” Aziraphale continued “So posh and handsome, and I had no earthly clue why he’d be interested in me.” Anthony quickly suppressed his urges to rush in and reassure Aziraphale that he was beyond desirable. It would be too forward, and this wasn’t about what Anthony thought about Aziraphale. It was about Aziraphale’s romantic history. Something he found keenly interesting. 

“He sort of swept me off my feet. Buying me posh dinners and drinks and showering me with compliments. It wasn’t until after we slept together the first time that he told me that he was married, to a woman.” Anthony felt himself swiftly developing a cheerful hatred for Gabriel. One that he’d probably stoke into a blazing fire if he heard more negative things about the man. 

“I was shocked, but I agreed to keep seeing him, being that I was utterly besotted, and because no one like him had ever showed me any interest before. He kept me hanging on with promises that he and his wife would split. That their marriage was a loveless one. He took me to dinner in out of the way places and even ended up renting a small flat where I could meet him for mid day trysts and late evening get togethers. Thinking back now though, I realize I was hopelessly naive. There must have been others before me and after me. Other men he kept on the side with promises that he’d leave her. Helen. That’s her name,” he added, keeping his eyes trained on the table in front of him, toying absently with his pair of chopsticks. 

“I don’t think there was anyone else at the same time as me,” he continued, answering Anthony’s unspoken question. “He simply didn’t have the time, what with his rather high stress job as an attorney, his home life with Helen and his few dates a week with me. But I do believe that having a man he could have sex with and see behind Helen’s back worked well with his schedule and his life. If anyone in his family or circle of friends found out he was cheating on his wife, especially with men, he knew it would ruin his reputation as a good, Christian married man, and would destroy his practice as well.” Aziraphale sighed in a resigned way before continuing. “I was a good little mistress. I kept quiet, met him whenever and wherever he wanted. I was always at his beck and call. Since I haven’t quite made the leap to owning a mobile phone, I’d wait in the shop for him to call me, just so I would never miss it when he reached out. It’s no wonder he couldn’t respect me, what with me trailing after him like a lost puppy.”

Anthony ached to reassure Aziraphale that he was worthy of so much more than what Gabriel had given him, but he kept quiet and waited for the other man to finish. 

“Then one day, out of the blue, he told me that Helen and he were recommitting themselves to their marriage. That they’d started going to counseling. That she wanted him to spend more time at home and that he and I were over. Just like that.” Aziraphale’s voice grew soft and sad and it took everything in Anthony’s power not to reach out to squeeze his hand. “I was utterly heartbroken.” Aziraphale continued. “I’m not proud to admit it, but it ruined me for a while. I’d attached all of my self worth to Gabriel loving me, and when he so casually told me he was done with me, it sort of made the bottom drop out from under everything.”

Anthony knew this was hard for Aziraphale to recount. The waitress drifted back towards their table, but Anthony forestalled her with a polite wave of his hand and a stiff smile before returning all of his attention back to Aziraphale, trying to hold space for him to say what he had to say. “I stopped sleeping. I stopped eating,” Aziraphale continued carefully. “You know I must have been wrecked if it kept me away from food.” He smiled and huffed a small laugh at his own self deprecating joke. “I closed the shop for two whole weeks. I was a mess. I’d never had my heart broken before. Hadn’t ever given it to anyone worth risking it getting broken before Gabriel.”

He sighed shakily and continued. “After a few weeks though, I recovered. I started reaching out to my old friends, began going out to town in the evenings now and then. A few years later, I met Lucien.” Here he paused again, as if marshalling his courage to continue. “He was also glamorous and very attractive in his own way. We got together very quickly and the whole thing was like a passionate whirlwind, until, he started making judgmental comments about my body, and I found out that I was far from the only man receiving his attentions.” 

Anthony was seething gently on the inside at this point. He had to admit that he had a strong protective streak and a bit of a temper, especially when it came to bullies. He suppressed fantasies of punching these men in the mouth and focused back on Aziraphale’s story.

“This time, I was the one who ended it,” Aziraphale said with a hollow grin. “I told Lucien that he was a thoughtless cad and that I’d never see him again and I left.”

Anthony nodded, striving to look as supportive as possible, secretly proud of the Aziraphale who’d told Lucien off and left.

“He let me go quite easily,” Aziraphale continued. “And I stayed away from dating after that. It just didn’t seem worth the effort. I suppose my heart took a beating and it’s a bit bruised now,” he finished, still fiddling with the paper encased pair of chopsticks in front of him, still keeping his eyes down and away from Anthony’s face. 

Antony longed to tell Aziraphale so many things. That he wanted to take care of the other man. That he wanted to be with him. Wanted to hold him, kiss him, take him apart in the gentlest, most loving way possible. But now was not the time. Not immediately after Aziraphale had told him something so vulnerable. And in reality, how much better was he than those men who’d let Aziraphale down? Sure, he had no intention of treating Aziraphale with anything but complete respect and devotion, should he ever be allowed to be with him, but in reality, when all the chips were down, he was just another cad. Just another tasteless man with a rocky past and a shady set of skills. He was a drug dealer, who took his clothing off for money, and Aziraphale? Aziraphale was an angel. A sweet man with his lovely shop full of fascinating facts. He was delicate of mannerism and kind and thoughtful. By comparison, Anthony was slick and sarcastic. He sold weed and undulated on a stage and worked in a mid grade spa for a living. Aziraphale deserved a prince. He deserved one of those sweet gay men who wore tasteful jumpers, who settled down in the suburbs, where they could own pets together and mow the lawn and snuggle on the couch to watch telly at the end of the day. 

All Anthony could give Aziraphale was a stage side view of him shaking his arse for money. He suppressed all of his negative thoughts and waited to see if Aziraphale would say anything else. He didn’t have to wait long. 

“When I saw Gabriel today at the spa,” Aziraphale continued. “It took me back to feeling helpless and unwanted. And he was so warm and friendly,” smarmy and condescending corrected Anthony silently, “that I was caught completely off guard.” He stopped then, seeming to realize how long his story had taken. “Oh my!” he exclaimed. “Listen to me prattling on. We should order so that the poor waitress can do her job.”

Anthony, wanting Aziraphale to go on and explain further about how he felt about Gabriel, was nevertheless forced to nod. “Do you mind if I order us a few things?” he asked, hoping to take the burden of deciding off of Aziraphale’s shoulders after his emotional recounting of his romantic history. “I know this place really well and I know what they make best.”

“Certainly,” Aziraphale looked pleased. “As long as it doesn’t contain eel.” he shuddered comically and Anthony chuckled in response. 

“No eel. Got it,” he said, turning to beckon the waitress back to their table with a small friendly wave. She came over smiling putting down two cups and a pot of green tea, and took down Anthony’s choices. He ordered two special rolls, tempura vegetables, pork gyoza and chicken katsu. He knew it was too much food, but something about providing Aziraphale with delicious foods he loved to eat made Anthony’s chest warm and tingly in a way he hadn’t experienced before. The man was just so sensual, and so in love with the world in a way that Anthony didn’t see among the jaded kids and bouncers at the club. The image of Aziraphale as an angel came back to him in a rush. He didn’t want to put the man on some pedestal of purity. Didn’t want to idolize him, or ignore his flaws, it was just that his white-blond mess of hair, his antiquated clothing and his shy mannerisms came across insanely charming and … saintly in a way. Maybe it was this kindness and purity of heart that had lead Aziraphale towards the priesthood. Anthony spent a quick minute or two, imagining himself on his knees in front of a black clad Aziraphale with a white collar, and swiftly banished the thought as he felt his body react strongly and his cheeks heated up in response to that little fantasy. 

Aziraphale had shared a part of his past that was painful, and Anthony felt he should do the same. To build trust between them, but also because he couldn’t stand Aziraphale not knowing things about him that might drive the man away later. 

“So,” he began, taking a deep breath and bracing himself for Aziraphale’s reaction. “I used to have a bit of a drug problem.”

“Is that so?” Aziraphale had lifted a cup of piping green tea to his lips to blow on it. He didn’t looked shocked, so reassured by this fact, Anthony continued. 

“Yeah. I’m not proud of it, but I had quite a coke problem for a while, and it got me into a lot of trouble. It’s sort of the reason why you’re seeing me dance in a strip club, rather than with a ballet company. I went to school for dance and was making quite a good living from it. I had a great reputation as a talented professional dancer. And so naturally, I had to go and ruin it all.” He chuckled humorlessly at his words, and looked up to gauge Aziraphale’s reaction. The other man’s face was neutral. He looked like he was patiently waiting for Anthony to continue, and so Anthony obliged him.

“Another dancer gave me some coke one night when it was late and we were both feeling run down. He said it would pick me up and give me the energy I needed to get through our practice sessions, which could be grueling sometimes. So, instead of getting enough sleep, eating enough or meditating, I chose cocaine as a way to solve my fatigue. The whole thing spun out of control pretty quickly. That stuff is very seductive, and I ended up spending most of my money on it. It made me into a right wanker and I got fired from my job for telling off my instructor and the head of the dance company I was working for. This effectively ruined my career.”

He paused for a moment, turning his own tea cup slowly between his thumb and forefinger, looking at anything but Aziraphale’s face. “I couldn’t stop using, and so I lost my job, my flat, my partner, who got pretty sick of my dark moods, my mania, my secrecy and my constant sniffles. Can’t say that I blame him. He was in it for the glory of dating a well established professional ballet dancer, and I was swiftly becoming a jobless, homeless wreck with a bad attitude.” He dared to look up at Aziraphale again and saw the other man looking back at him with nothing but patience and support. His heart throbbed painfully inside his chest for a moment before he continued. 

“Pretty soon, I ended up sleeping in my car. I overdid it and snorted way too much blow, and then crashed, two days later, passing out in the driver’s seat. I forgot to lock the doors, and a gang of thugs pulled me out of the car and beat me to within an inch of my life. They stole my wallet, my drugs, my CD system and smashed the windows of my very expensive car that I could no longer afford to pay for.”

Aziraphale let out a soft moan of dismay and Anthony looked up to see a pair of worried, sea colored eyes trained on his face. The man’s expression was full of sorrow and empathy. Not an iota of judgment could be found in his lovely eyes or the position of his soft mouth. None of the ‘you brought it on yourself’ coldness he sometimes got from people when talking about his history with drugs. Anthony felt something warm and sacred unspool inside his chest at the sight of Aziraphale’s kind face, his kind eyes watching him. 

“And so, that was that,” he finished. “I begged my parents to pay for a stint in rehab, and they grudgingly agreed to help me. I eventually worked enough to pay them back, and never touched hard drugs again. I still keep up an awkward connection with them. One in which I don’t talk about what I do for a living or who I sleep with and they don’t ask. It works for us. I love them, but they can’t ever really accept me. My sisters are far friendlier. To them, I’m just their big brother. But they’re both married with children to take care of and I rarely see them.”

He was interrupted by the waitress, returning with several plates of artfully arranged food in a rainbow of colors, and the two men turned their attention to the pleasure of eating. Aziraphale, carefully selecting a piece of sushi draped in thin slices of avocado with his chopsticks, spoke hesitantly, “Thank you for telling me that Anthony. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough with me to let me into that part of your past.” 

“It’s the least I could do,” Anthony picked up and nibbled at a pork dumpling. “You told me about your romantic history. I appreciate that. I know it can be tough.”

Aziraphale nodded, then his eyes rolled back into his head and he moaned around the bite of sushi and Anthony had to drop his eyes to his own plate to hide what the sight did to him. It wasn’t entirely or even mostly a sexual thing. More that watching Aziraphale eat felt cozy. It made him warm and fuzzy and deeply affectionate towards the plump blond man. And maybe it was just a little teeny bit sexual after all. I mean, the noises Aziraphale made when he ate. Soft little moans, deep groans of pleasure. It did make Anthony wonder what the man would sound like in bed. He quickly banished such thoughts, not wanting to have to hide his body’s reactions while in a public place. 

They spent the rest of the meal in quasi silent enjoyment of the food and each other’s company. They chatted briefly here and there in between bites of breaded chicken dipped in hoi sin sauce and spicy salmon roll smeared with wasabi. It felt more comfortable than their previous times spent together, and Anthony realized that this was probably due to their mutual sharing of their past. He felt less likely to be rejected for his checkered past, and he felt he had a better handle on the type of person Aziraphale was underneath his nervous exterior.

Eventually, long after Anthony had ceased eating, when Aziraphale had finally set his chopsticks down with a happy sigh and complimented Anthony for perhaps the fifth or sixth time on his selection of dishes, Anthony called for the check. This time however, Aziraphale insisted on paying. 

“Nonsense,” Anthony countered. “I saw that tip you gave me for my massage. You’ve paid for this meal already.”

“That was for you, for giving me the gift of touch, Anthony. This is me buying us dinner. Those are two different things. Both of which I want to show my appreciation for. You introduced me to this lovely new restaurant and you provided me with lovely company, and I want to express my thanks.”

Anthony felt his insides twist uncomfortably at the naked kindness and warmth in Aziraphale’s voice. He hated when people complimented him. Not because it wasn’t needed. Not as if he didn’t crave to be told that he was good, only that it didn’t feel like it fit him. It didn’t land well, didn’t seep into his skin like it should. “Alright, angel. Whatever you say.” He replied, unable to look at Aziraphale. 

“Did you just call me angel?” Aziraphale asked, surprise tinted with pleasure ringing in his voice. 

Oh shit. That had slipped out. “Yeah,” Anthony copped to the nickname. It was too late to deny it, or backpedal. “Do you mind? It’s just you strike me as a little, I don’t know… angelic.”

“Oh my, am I that dull?” Aziraphale’s hand had come up to his throat, but his offense was only play acting. He looked secretly pleased. 

“No. No. Not dull at all” Anthony was quick to explain. “Just, very sweet. Very kind. And your hair, it… sort of looks like a halo.” Now his cheeks were on fire with what was probably a very obvious blush. “It just slipped out. If it bothers you, I don’t have to call you that.”

“Please do. I like it,” Aziraphale said, accompanying his words with a soft touch of his hand to Anthony’s forearm that sent shivers all the way down the red haired man’s spine. 

Anthony cleared his throat, unable to bear the intimacy of their shared moment a second longer. It made his skin itch to be seen so completely, to be so gently spoken to. He was used to men moving in sexually sooner than not. Aziraphale hadn’t made a single pass. Hadn’t done a single thing that portrayed a sexual longing. Although there had been a dicy moment during the massage when Anthony could swear he’d felt a different sort of energy coming off the man. He’d ignored it though, because touch affected people in all kinds of ways. 

They were engaged in a careful dance, the steps of which neither of them were familiar with. He only knew he didn’t want to jostle Aziraphale, or rush him. That he could take his time for the shy, proper man to open up and welcome him in. It hadn’t happened yet, and Anthony prayed that this wasn’t because Aziraphale saw him only as a friend. He hoped it was simply that the handsome bookshop owner was shy, unused to courtship after years of celibacy. 

He finally relented and let Aziraphale pay the check. Afterwards, they walked out onto the street. It was dark, early evening, and there was a cool breeze. “Lets share a cab to your place. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see you home.” Anthony suggested, not wanting to leave Aziraphale just yet, or walk back to the spa to pick up his car. Also not wanting to subject Aziraphale to more of his driving. 

“I can cab it back to the spa to get my car after I drop you off,” He explained. Was that a flicker of disappointment he saw on Aziraphale’s face? Had the other man wanted to invite him in? Anthony suddenly knew that even if Aziraphale did invite him into the shop, for a nightcap or some other thinly veiled excuse to get them alone together, that he’d politely refuse. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Aziraphale. In fact, he was on fire for him. He wanted the shy, eccentric man in every way it was possible to want someone. But he couldn’t rush in too quickly. Not after their run in with Gabriel. Not after hearing how Aziraphale had been used and tossed aside by not one but two past lovers. It was all he’d ever known of love. That it was something rushed into in a fit of passion and then withdrawn suddenly and cruelly. He refused to be a part of that pattern. If Aziraphale wanted him, and he suspected that he might, he’d wait until they were both sure that it was something that would last. 

Images of the two of them, snuggling together on Anthony’s sofa, kissing over morning coffee in Anthony’s kitchen. Images of him pushing Aziraphale up against one of his many bookshelves and kissing him deep and soft, momentarily made Anthony’s head spin as he lifted a hand to hail a cab. After a few tries, one pulled up and both men got in. They sat on opposite sides in the back seat, looking out their respective windows. Anthony shot a glance at Aziraphale through the side of his eye and admired his face as it was illuminated by passing street lamps. My god, he’s beautiful, he thought for the tenth time that day. He was in trouble with this man. In over his head a bit, and it was thrilling and terrifying all at once.

The cab pulled up outside Aziraphale’s shop and Anthony asked the cabbie to wait for a few minutes so he could say goodbye. He exited the vehicle and Aziraphale did the same. They ended up staring at each other in front of the door to the shop, neither sure what to do next. 

“Thank you for the lovely evening” Aziraphale said softly, his eyes searching Anthony’s face.

“Aziraphale,” Anthony began, unsure of what he wanted to say next, but overcome with feelings that were welling up inside him and forcing him to say something. 

He never got his chance though, because they both heard a car door opening nearby. “Azi!” a man with an American accent called out in the night and Anthony turned in time to see Gabriel (fucking Gabriel of all people), striding up to the two of them from where his car was parked a few spots down. “Azi! Hi! So sorry to interrupt, but I’m glad I caught you.” The infuriatingly handsome man walked up and clasped a shocked Aziraphale on the shoulder, giving him a squeeze, before turning to clap Anthony on the back so hard that the red haired man stumbled forwards slightly. “And your friend from earlier, Anthony was it?” He made sure to put heavy emphasis on the word ‘friend’.

“Yup,” Anthony responded sullenly, feeling his stomach twist uncomfortably and balling his fists at his sides as a sudden urge to punch Gabriel in the face coursed through his autonomic nervous system. 

“Sorry, Azi. I realized that you probably still don’t have a cell phone, and I really wanted to talk to you about something important, so I just came over. Hope you don’t mind.”

Anthony wanted to say very clearly and very plainly, in a way that held no room for misinterpretation, that he did in fact mind Gabriel being there. Very much indeed. But it wasn’t his place to speak, and so he simply gritted his teeth and waited for Aziraphale to respond.

“Oh. Um. Yes. Of course it’s alright.” He turned to a stunned Anthony, a look of apology making its way across his face. Anthony had been sure Aziraphale was about to tell Gabriel to shove off. He hadn’t expected Aziraphale to entertain this intrusion into their goodbye, after what was obviously a romantic date. Anthony had been working his way up to possibly kissing Aziraphale, and here came this lumox, clearly intent on elbowing him out of the way. 

“Fine. Sure. I’ll talk to you later.” He forced a wooden smile onto his face and spun on his heel, getting back in the cab. He gave the cabbie the address to the spa so he could go pick up his car, and resolutely avoided looking at Aziraphale and Gabriel as the cab drove away from the bookshop. A mere five seconds later, his resolve crumbled, and he looked out the back window to where the two men were still standing, close to one another by the front door to the shop, just in time to see Gabriel take Aziraphale’s face in his hands and pull him into a kiss. 

Anthony whipped his head back around, his cheeks burning, his stomach flipping over with a nauseating surge, as jealousy, hot and fierce, flooded through his veins. Of course. Of course Aziraphale would immediately fall back into the arms of the handsome, successful man who’d broken his heart. It was silly for Anthony to expect otherwise. Who was he? Just a has-been dancer, a washed up club kid. A drug dealer. Who was he to deserve this delicate, kind man with the windswept eyes and soft mouth that he’d had the poor luck to fall madly in love with? 

In love with him? Oh bloody Hell. It was true wasn’t it? He’d fallen for Aziraphale. He could feel it in the way his blood boiled with possessive jealousy from the sight of Aziraphale, wrapped up in Gabriel’s arms. He could sense it in all the fantasies that ran through his mind during the day, thoughts of kissing Aziraphale and stroking his hair, of holding him in his arms and telling him soft, gentle things that he’d never told anyone else before. Of course he was in love with the man. Aziraphale was beautiful and kind and soft and all the things that Anthony was not. Anthony with his sharp corners and sharp tongue and his stupid black clothing. What was he trying to prove anyway? That he was still young and hot? That he was still sexy and desirable? What good would all that do if the one decent, lovely man he’d found that he longed to be with didn’t share his feelings? 

He was in an impossibly foul mood, struggling to maintain a multi-directional anger, at Gabriel for honing in the man he fancied. At Aziraphale for being a dupe for Gabriel’s smooth talk. At himself for being so hung up on Aziraphale before he’d even summoned the nerve to kiss the man. Hadn’t Aziraphale learned anything? Why was he so quick to welcome Gabriel back in, a mere hour and a half or so after telling Anthony how horribly he’d been treated by the suave bastard. 

Anthony had to stay angry, because if he didn’t maintain his anger, it would melt into sadness and regret, and he couldn’t handle that right now. He had a mad urge to get drunk. To maybe call up his old connection and end his several years clean streak. 

These weren’t rational or helpful urges, and so he took a deep breath and decided to simply go home. Maybe sleep it off. Maybe he’d hear from Aziraphale? Maybe there had been a misunderstanding? But deep inside, he realized that there probably was no misunderstanding. People often got back together with their exes. Especially the ones that disappeared and left them heartbroken. Especially the ones who weren’t worth the anguish they’d caused.

Maybe Gabriel had changed his ways? Maybe he meant to be good to Aziraphale? Anthony hoped so. He hated the idea of Aziraphale being snatched away from him, just when their connection had started to deepen, but even more than that, he wanted the other man to be happy. Even if it was in the arms of another.

Oh shit. I’m really in over my head, he thought ruefully. He must be truly falling for Aziraphale if he were thinking selfless things, like that the blond man’s happiness was more important than Anthony getting to be with him. He’d never had those sorts of thoughts before. He’d always been a selfish person. Wanting the happiness of others, but never at the expense of his own. Wanting to give to others, but only because it felt good to give. And here he was hoping that Aziraphale could find happiness with a man that wasn’t Anthony, simply because he cared about Aziraphale’s well being. He was well and truly fucked. 

His head was a swimming mess and his stomach was cramping with anxiety as he paid the cabbie and got into his own car to head home. He had a sudden urge to climb under the covers and sleep forever. He could call out of his shift at the spa and the club for the next couple of days. He was doing well financially, and it wouldn’t cause any issues. He’d built up a lot of credit at both of his places of employment, having a strong work ethic, and being highly skilled. And if he slept the day away, he wouldn’t have to wait for Aziraphale to call. Wouldn’t stare hopefully at his mobile all day like the love sick idiot he was inside. 

He parked in front of his Mayfair flat and took the lift up to his floor. He tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter top, shrugged his way out of his jacket and crawled immediately under the thick blanket and soft sheets of his bed. He fell asleep instantly, dreaming vividly of Aziraphale, Aziraphale kissing Gabriel. Aziraphale, kissing the wrong man.


	8. Chapter 8

The instant Anthony shut the cab door behind him, Gabriel had turned to Aziraphale with a familiar look in his eye. “I’ve missed you a lot Azi”. He said, his voice thick and gruff with longing. 

“You had a funny way of showing it” Aziraphale replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Helen left me” Gabriel said and Aziraphale felt his heart stop for just a moment, felt his mouth drop open. “She left me” He repeated, “and I didn’t care. I realized that there was only ever one person I truly cared about, and that was you”, and without any further preamble he stepped up and pulled Aziraphale’s mouth to his in a sudden kiss. 

Aziraphale was shocked. He had no idea what to do, and so he simply let himself be kissed. He’d waited for so many long and tearful nights for Gabriel to come back around and say the exact things he’d just said. To beg to have Aziraphale back. It had been a fantasy that had turned cold and painful and had fallen to pieces under the onslaught of reality, when Gabriel hadn’t returned. They’d broken up eight bloody years ago now. How had the man gotten it into his head that Azirpahale would even want to see him, let alone be aggressively snogged by him. 

After a few startling seconds of being shocked into immobility by the feel of Gabriel’s lips pressing against his own, Aziraphale came to his senses, his head still reeling slightly, and pushed Gabriel gently away from him with both hands on the man’s broad chest. 

“Gabriel” He said, carefully, placatingly, not wanting to insult the man, but not knowing how else to respond. “A lot has changed since we were together. I’m a different person.”

“It’s OK Azi, so am I.” Gabriel smiled his most reassuring smile. One he’d most undoubtedly learned as an ad exec. “I know things are different, but what we had was really good wasn’t it?” 

Unbidden, memories of Gabriel’s strong arms around him, Gabriel’s soft skin against his own, came flooding back to Aziraphale’s mind. The sex _had_ been fantastic. It was just everything else that had been miserable. The waiting around for Gabriel to call (sometimes not for days at a stretch), the hiding, the sporadic, last minute nature of their rendezvous. The sickening feeling that Aziraphale was helping the man cheat on his wife mixed with the giddy highs of being in love for the first time. The whole mess hadn’t been good. And now, with years of self work and hindsight, Aziraphale knew that it was a lost cause. Even if Gabriel did not. Even if Gabriel was now pulling him back in for another kiss, letting his tongue gently try to worm it’s way between Azirpahale’s pursed lips. 

_My_ but he smelled good though. Aziraphale couldn’t help but recall what it felt like to explode inside Gabriel’s mouth, to feel Gabriel’s cock inside him, his hand on him. It had been so hot, so desperate, so bloody _filthy_. It had been everything Aziraphale wanted sex to be. The first time he’d had it in a real bed, in the arms of a dedicated partner. Even if it was a partner who kept him a secret.

He found himself parting his lips and letting Gabriel’s tongue into his mouth. He had a lot of built up sexual tension from spending time with Anthony and it flooded to the surface before he could stop it. He moaned into the kiss and heard Gabriel moan back. Gabriel, who probably tasted differently than Anthony. Gabriel who was rougher than Anthony probably would be. 

_Anthony_. 

He realized suddenly that he wanted this with _Anthony_ , not with Gabriel. He was kissing Gabriel simply because he was attractive, and there, and pressing his advantage, but it wasn’t Gabriel that Aziraphale was dreaming of being with. It was Anthony. He felt it in every cell in his body, and suddenly, kissing Gabriel was intolerable. He pushed the other man away again, shaking his head. 

“I’m sorry Gabriel. I can’t. I’ve met someone new.”

“What? That fuckboy in the tight jeans?” Gabriel’s voice was suddenly cold and sharp. “He’s clearly just after you for a quick shag. He doesn’t love you like I do”

“You don’t love me Gabriel” Aziraphale replied patiently, ignoring the man’s unkind words, trying to keep his voice from shaking with the sudden anger he felt at hearing Gabriel disparage his beautiful Anthony. “You just want me to validate you now that your wife’s gone. That isn’t love. That’s just...competition. That’s just projection.”

Gabriel spluttered angrily as he took his arms from around Aziraphale’s shoulders and stepped away, looking at Aziraphale as if he’d sprouted wings and fifteen extra sets of eyes. Without another word, he turned and walked stiffly away, leaving Aziraphale lost and angry and confused on the pavement, watching him go. He quickly entered his shop and locked the door behind him, not wanting to give Gabriel the satisfaction of watching him drive away. He leaned back against the door and took several deep breaths, trying to calm his mind. 

He had to call Anthony. Had to explain that Gabriel meant nothing to him. Had the other man seen them kissing as he’d been driven away? He’d seemed pretty unsettled by Gabriel’s interruption to what had seemed like a promising goodbye. 

But what would he say if he did call? They hadn’t reached the place where they’d made any overt mention of wanting each other. Aziraphale had made no declarations. Anthony had not made a pass at him. Nothing had transpired between them except kind words and traded stories of their past. And the massage of course. 

Anthony wasn’t his boyfriend. Aziraphale wasn’t even completely certain that the other man fancied him, and he lacked the courage to come out and ask. How was he supposed to now call him and reassure him that Gabriel meant nothing. To apologize, again for Gabriel’s inserting himself into their evening for the second time. He’d have to come out and say that it was Anthony he wanted. Anthony he dreamed of kissing. It was a big step. It would be far easier to wait until tomorrow and call the man up, thank him again for the lovely afternoon and ask him if he’d like to accompany Aziraphale, perhaps pick up some of those trainers Anthony mentioned during the massage. 

Yes. Keep things friendly and wait for Anthony to make a move. He felt like a coward, but his heart was still too tender and his head too turned around to trust his intuition. Anthony could simply be glad to have a close friend to talk to. And so what if Aziraphale chose to confide in Anthony that he’d rejected Gabriel last night? If they were to be friends, then it would be perfectly natural for Aziraphale to tell Anthony that Gabriel meant nothing to him any longer, and that he had most definitely _not_ invited the tall American man into his shop after Anthony had driven off. Yes, that would fix the situation nicely. 

He slowly climbed the stairs to his rooms on the second floor, remembering Gabriel’s kiss and wishing it had been Anthony’s lips against his own. Wishing that Anthony hadn’t been driven off by his obnoxious ex boyfriend. That he was here now in Aziraphale’s bed. He decided to call it an early night, stripping down to his pants and crawling in between the sheets, settling against his down pillows with a worried sigh. Thoughts of Anthony’s stiff smile and quick exit after Gabriel’s rude interruption kept dancing through his head. 

Maybe it was time he stopped being so shy and cautious and told Anthony how he felt? And this was… how? Tell the man he’d only seen three times in his life that he was falling for him? Tell him that he had fantasies, not only of making love to Anthony, but about holding him close after the sex. Fantasies, of Anthony on Christmas morning. Anthony just lounging around the bookshop, chatting with him on lazy Wednesday afternoons. He was utterly besotted and he didn’t know what he was supposed to do now. Always before, he’d taken a very passive role, choosing to let men approach him, never doing the approaching, but now he was in a situation in which he’d unwittingly driven the other man away. 

Aziraphale rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, chewing his lip. After a few more minutes spent worrying about Anthony, he got up and headed downstairs. He ended up standing in his pants and a t-shirt, in front of his antique telephone. His courage gave out at the last minute and he put down the business card with Anthony’s number on it that he kept by the phone and decided he wanted to talk to Anathema before calling Anthony. He dialed her number and chewed on the sides of his thumb while he waited.  
  


“Hey there doll face” her voice was warm and welcoming as always. 

“I need some advice about Anthony” Aziraphale said without preamble. 

“My! Aren’t we thirsty tonight” Anathema remarked. 

Aziraphale had no idea why wanting to talk about Anthony marked him as particularly dehydrated, but he knew she was mocking him somehow. “Look. I just need to explain something to him, and realized I don’t know how to go about it.”

“Did you maybe want to explain to him how much you long to take his clothes off?” she asked pleasantly and Aziraphale felt his face and neck catch fire. 

“Anathema!” He yelped. “How horribly inappropriate.” 

“Oh come off it” Anathema joked “ _I_ know you want him. _You_ know you want him. What’s with the pretending?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I think he may have seen my ex kissing me” he explained. 

“ _What?!_ ” Anathema’s voice rose several octaves and got very sharp. “When did this happen?”

“Well, I went and got a massage from him-”

“Oh my gosh! How did that go?” Anathema interrupted him, clearly losing sight of the point of this story in favor of getting information on Aziraphale’s massage.

“It was fantastic, but let’s not get into the details right now”

“You owe me” He could hear her pouting in jest through the receiver. 

“Afterwards, guess who walked into the spa waiting room?”

“Aziraphale, you know how bad I am at guessing. Was it Tony Blaire?” 

“No! It was Gabriel. My ex.”  
  


“Holy shit! Gabriel? The one who dumped you to get back with his wife?”

“Well, technically, he always _was_ with his wife my dear, he only recommitted to-”

“Yes, I know which one Gabriel is. And that is absolute bonkers that he showed up out of the blue like that.” She gasped suddenly “Did Anthony meet him?”

“Yes. Yes he did. It was,... awkward to say the least. But we got out of there and went to a very nice early dinner at this darling little sushi place and-”

“Aziraphale! Tell me what happened with your ex kissing you! We can go over the entirety of your date with Anthony, detail by romantic detail at a later date. Now is for spilling about the ex.”

“Very well. After dinner, when we shared a cab back to my place, and as he was saying goodnight, Gabriel walked up again.”

“Shut _up_ !! He did _not_!” Anathema was clearly shocked, but possibly hamming it up a bit because Aziraphale knew she was delighted by scandalous stories.

“Yes. He’d apparently driven over and was waiting for me to come home, so we could talk. Said he knows how impossible it is to reach me without a mobile phone.”

“See! They come in handy.”

“Anyway,” Aziraphale soldiered on, despite the semi constant input from the peanut gallery, “he marches up and says he has to talk to me, so I tell Anthony good night.” 

“You sent Anthony away?” Her voice took on a heavy note of incredulity, lanced through with disapproval and he flinched slightly on the other end.

“Yes. I felt so awkward, so confused to have Gabriel standing there after so many years. I sort of lost my equilibrium.”

“That’s understandable”

“And so Anthony left, got in the cab and drove off, but before he’d rounded the corner at the end of the block, Gabriel told me his wife left him and then he kissed me.”

“No Way!” 

“Yes. He grabbed me and kissed me and all I could do was stand there and let him.”

“Has Anthony kissed you yet?”

“What?” Aziraphale was confused by the sudden, if adjacent change in subjects. 

“Has he kissed you yet?” Anathema repeated. 

  
“No. No he hasn’t. We didn’t… it didn’t quite feel like the-” 

“Oh come _on_ Aziraphale” Her voice was belabored with impatience. “You know you want to. And now he’s seen you kissing your ex. You’d better kiss him soon to show him it’s him you want and not Gabriel.”

“Oh. It’s that simple is it?” Azirpahale was suddenly a touch irritable with Anathema’s sass. “Just kiss him and everything will be alright? And by the way, aren’t you wondering what happened with Gabriel? Don’t you want to know if I invited him in or what have you?”

“I know you didn’t” Anathema said, with far too much confidence. 

“Do you now? And how is that?”

“I know you didn’t, because you want Anthony, not Gabriel.”

Aziraphale sighed. “You’re right. I _do_ want Anthony. I told Gabriel I couldn’t be with him.”

“Good. Now all you have to is make a pass at Anthony and everything will work out fine” She sounded very pleased with herself, and Aziraphale felt a momentary flush of warm affection for the irreverent young woman. 

“I can’t. I’m too scared!” he wailed. “What if he doesn’t want me back? What if he thinks I’m a cheater and a liar for kissing Gabriel? What if he’s only after a quick fling? What if..”

“What if he loves you back? What if he’s been waiting patiently for you to show him how you feel? What if the two of you end up buying a house together in the South Downs and spend all your time having sex for the next decade? Isn’t it worth a little risk to find out if it will all work out? You can’t hide inside that shop forever.” 

  
That last part stung a little. “I don’t hide inside my shop” Aziraphale countered, a touch sullenly

“Oh yes you do sweetheart. You do it all the time. You spend all of your energy on books and don’t take any for yourself. You need to get out and meet people, make new friends. You came out with me _one_ night, -- not to the Youngs, that doesn’t count--, and look! You found yourself a new boyfriend!”

He had to admit that she had a point. Only the prospect of making his desire known to Anthony was nerve wracking. But now, now that he was relatively sure Anthony had seen him kiss Gabriel, he thought it prudent to make his feelings very clear. 

“Fine then. I’ll call him.”

Anathema happily congratulated Aziraphale for being brave. “Thank you”. He mumbled. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to call him and invite him over so that I might do this kissing you seem so keen on me doing.”

She squealed, then wished him luck and rang off. Aziraphale picked up the phone with a shaking hand and dialed Anthony’s number. 

The phone rang. And rang. And rang…. Eventually, his voicemail picked up. “ _Hi, it’s Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style_ ” The beep happened and Aziraphale panicked and then hung up without leaving a message. He supposed he’d been expecting Anthony to pick up, and hadn’t had a message planned out to leave. He felt a little let down, and then silently berated himself for expecting Anthony to be available, simply because he, Aziraphale wanted to talk to him. 

Should he try again? He suddenly realized that Anthony didn’t have his number, and so it would come up in his mobile as unrecognized. He’d have to call back and leave a message, or else Anthony would have no way of knowing the call had come from him. He picked up the receiver and slowly dialed Anthony’s number a second time.

This time, the man picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” His voice sounded groggy, deep and rough as if he’d been sleeping. Aziraphale looked at the clock worriedly. It was only nine. Not that late. 

“Hello Anthony? It’s Aziraphale. I’m glad that I’ve caught you.”

“Oh… hello.” It was impressive how many different emotions one could fit into two small words like that. Anthony’s _Oh_ was surprised, his _hello_ held echoes of suspicion. “How can I help you?”

Aziraphale winced at the politeness in Anthony’s tone. “I, well, I wanted to see if I could take you up on that offer to shop for trainers with me.” He said, eyes squeezed shut, teeth bared in a rictus as his wince deepened and he waited for Anthony’s answer. 

“When?” Anthony’s voice was warming just a little, but still held a wary sort of fear that Aziraphale hated. He supposed he deserved whatever negative emotions Anthony chose to dole out right now, being that he’d asked the man to leave so that he could reconnect with his pushy ex boyfriend only half an hour ago. 

“Whenever would work best for you” he replied, twirling the curlicue cord of the old telephone in his fingers and praying silently. “I can always close the shop whenever’s needed. I do that enough anyway. You know.. Those yelp reviews you showed me” he giggled nervously and it was met by silence on the other end of the line. He started to sweat. 

“Um… Yeah.” Came a reply after a few excruciatingly long moments of silence. He _did_ sound groggy. Had possibly gone to bed early and Aziraphale had woken him up. “That sounds good. I’m free tomorrow during the day.” 

Aziraphale tried to keep his heart from soaring and failed miserably. “Good. Lovely. Where would you like to meet up? What time?”

“How about noon at your place?” Anthony’s voice was cautiously optimistic now. More awake. More positive. The sound warmed Aziraphale’s mood considerably. He allowed himself a small smile. 

“Alright then! I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow angel” and then the line went dead. 

_Angel_

He’d used the affectionate nickname again. Maybe without even realizing it, as he’d sounded so groggy on the phone. Aziraphale put the phone down as a huge smile made its way across his face. He’d been awarded a second chance! Now all he had to do was somehow let Anthony know how he felt. 

The task felt far more daunting than it should have. Normally, when people fancy one another, they say something, don’t they? Or they slowly work their way towards putting an arm around the person, leaning in and kissing them, like in the cinema. Aziraphale had seen many romantic comedies, and none of the idealistic things done by the main characters seemed appropriate to this situation. If only he hadn’t been so romantically passive his whole life!

Aziraphale had never had to make the first move. The men he’d been with had always made it quite clear that they were interested, had made a move on _him_ , and he’d simply gone along with it. The thought of him verbally or physically reaching out to Anthony and being rejected felt intolerably painful. The thought of not doing so and watching the man walk out of his life forever seemed even worse. At least if he reached out and got rejected, he’d be taking an active role. He’d at least be able to tell himself he was brave. But if he simply sat there and waited for Anthony to speak up, and the other man did not, well then, he’d have nothing to console himself with when Anthony walked away. 

Aziraphale spent the rest of the evening fretting over what he’d say to Anthony tomorrow, finally falling asleep at three in the morning, in his armchair, an unread book lying against his chest. 


	9. Chapter 9

It was five minutes to twelve and Anthony stood nervously outside of Azirpahale’s shop, summoning up the courage to knock. He’d been hopeful that last night’s phone call, the buzzing of which had woken him from hazy dreams of Aziraphale hiding from him in a shadowy room full of billowing gray curtains, had been Aziraphale’s way of reaching out for connection. If he’d called at 9, then clearly he hadn’t invited Gabriel in. Unless he had. Unless he’d invited the other man in and had him wait in the bedroom while he secured a date with his _friend_ Anthony so he could go shopping the next day. Perhaps he’d hung up with Anthony and walked right into Gabriel’s waiting arms. 

Anthony shook his head to dissolve his paranoid musings and knocked on the door. Then realized belatedly that this was a public business and opened the door, stepping in out of the sunshine. 

Aziraphale stood in the foyer, as if he’d been waiting for Anthony’s knock. “Hello!” he chirped, a little too cheerfully. 

“Hey angel” Anthony couldn’t seem to stop calling the man angel. As if the first time he’d said it, only yesterday had somehow given his mouth permission to keep using it, and he’d been helpless to stop saying it now. 

“Thank you ever so much for agreeing to help me.” Aziraphale said while putting on his cream colored coat. The thing was flattering, but looked like he’d plucked it from a museum exhibit of late nineteenth century men’s clothing. “Would you like a drink of water, maybe a cup of tea before we get going?” He paused, one arm in a sleeve and the other poised to thrust itself into the other, as if just realizing his social faux pas.

Anthony shook his head “no thanks. I’ll be fine. Any idea where you want to go?”

“Well, since you’ll be with me, able to give me some guidance, I thought perhaps we’d try that posh shoestore a few blocks over. I’ve always been too intimidated to go in by myself.”

This made Anthony smile. “Don’t worry angel. I’ll protect you from the snooty salespeople. I shall be your shoe sherpa on this precarious journey to buy new footwear.” 

Aziraphale grinned at his joke. “Shall we?” he asked, opening the door of the shop. “After you”. 

They headed out in the direction of the shop, walking side by side and keeping their eyes forward. Anthony longed to look at Aziraphale, to drink him in with his eyes. To maybe search for signs that he might betray whether or not he’d been with Gabriel last night. He knew there was no real way to tell these sorts of things, but he was burning up with the desire to know. To know his fate. Maybe he could do some gentle probing to find out.

“That was unexpected, that thing with your ex last night” he hazarded, his heart leaping up into his throat as he spoke. He kept his eyes fixed on the pavement in front of them and waited for Aziraphale to respond. 

“Oh yes. Yes. Quite unsettling.”

_Unsettling sounds promising_ thought Anthony. Better than _welcome_ or, god forbid _wanted_. 

“Yes, he came to tell me that his wife had left him, and that he wanted to be with me again.”

“Did he?” It took all of Anthony’s strength to sound casual, like his romantic fate didn’t hang in the balance of Azirapahle’s next words. “What did you do when he told you?”

“Well, I’m not sure if you happened to see this,” Azirpahale’s voice was actually shaking, and Anthony risked a sideways glance at him, finding him pale and his mouth pressed into a firm line. “But he kissed me.”

“He did, did he? No, I hadn’t noticed” Anthony lied, his heart pounding away in his ears. “What happened after that?”

“I told him that I wasn’t interested and he turned around and left” Aziraphale said. 

Anthony thought he might pass out from the rush of relief that flooded through his senses upon hearing this. “Is that so?” he asked, relatively certain he’d win an Oscar for this performance of nonchalant, polite interest he was putting on. 

“Yes. That ship has most definitely sailed.” Aziraphale continued. 

They walked in silence for a minute or two. Anthony finally found the courage to speak up again. “I’m performing again at the club tonight, if you want to stop by” he said. He hadn’t planned on inviting Aziraphale to see him dance, but the other man’s confession that he’d turned his ex away last night had Anthony feeling giddy and impulsive. 

“I’d like that” Aziraphale responded, sounding eager? He sounded eager didn’t he?

“Great. I go on at half past ten. That might be too late for you…”

“I’ll be there. I’ll see if Anathema can come with me”.

Anthony smiled at the mention of the young woman’s name. “That’d be fun” he replied. “She can fend off all the men that would normally throw themselves at you were you to go there alone.” 

He flicked his eyes sideways to catch a glimpse of Azirpahale’s face to see how the compliment landed and was pleased to see the man’s cheeks pinking across the bridge of his nose. 

They arrived at the shoe store and Anthony helped Aziraphale find a pair of canvas colored trainers with dark brown laces and thin soles. They almost looked like a casual version of his formal shoes, but they felt like bedroom slippers, according to Aziraphale. He was delighted by the man’s face, which broke into a glowing smile as he walked around the shop in his new shoes, testing them out. “Oh my!” he exclaimed “These are ever so comfortable!”

They weren’t cheap, but Azirpahale didn’t bat an eye when the salesperson told him the total. He passed the young woman a credit card and signed the receipt. 

They were back out on the street in less than an hour, standing on the pavement, looking past and around each other, nervously. Unsure of where to go next. “Care to take a walk in the park with me to try these out?” Azirpahale asked, and Anthony quickly agreed. They made their way to St. James’ Park and Aziraphale sat on a bench to change shoes, then they took a stroll around the lake, looking at the floating groups of ducks and swans as they walked. 

“How are they faring? You know if they’re not just right, we can take them back and look for another pair.” Anthony offered. 

“Oh no my dear, they’re simply wonderful. Thank you so much for your input” Azirphale smiled at him and Anthony felt his heart skip a beat. 

They eventually came to a stop by the gate that ran the edge of the lake and stared out at the water together, watching it ripple gently in the breeze, the sunlight sparkling off the ripples caused by passing waterfowl. 

“Anthony” Aziraphale said, his voice soft and gentle as he placed the bag with his old shoes down on the pavement at their feet. Anthony looked at him and saw the other man looking down at his hands, a worried expression on his features. 

_Oh shit. This is when he tells me he’s not interested,_ he thought, feeling a dark cloud descending suddenly on their enjoyable day together. “Yeah?” he responded, feeling his stomach clenching with anxiety at the sight of Aziraphale’s stern face. 

“Anthony, I… last night, when Gabriel left. He didn’t just leave because I told him that I wasn’t interested…” 

Anthony waited for Aziraphale to continue, heart in his throat.

“He left mainly because I told him I’d met someone else.”

Anthony felt a moment of confusion. _Had_ Aziraphale met someone besides himself?

“Yes, and so, I told him that I couldn’t be with him because I wanted to be with someone else.” Aziraphale finished, his face pink, his hands still working together.

It was slowly dawning on Anthony to whom Aziraphale was referring. And with that comprehension came a rush of adrenaline that made his knees weak. “Is that so?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady, turning to look at Aziraphale as the other man blushed and kept his eyes trained down at the water of the lake. 

“I’m not very good at this” Azirpahale was saying. “I’m quite slow and quite bashful.”

“It’s alright.” Anthony said, placing a gentle hand on Azirpahale’s shoulder. “It’s alright. You can go as slow as you want to. Only…”

“Yes?” Aziraphale turned to look at him at last, and the expression on his face, one of hope and longing almost knocked Anthony over. 

“Only, I’d really like to know who this lucky chap you’re referring to is before I say anything else.” he said, with a weak laugh, feeling like he wanted to leap into the sky and fly circles around the lake, yet still needing to know, unequivocally that Aziraphale was referring to him. 

Aziraphale’s blush increased tenfold. He looked back down and away from Anthony’s face, biting at his lip before speaking. “It’s you Anthony. It’s you that I’d like to be with” he said boldly, letting out a long shaky sigh. “I’m just rubbish at expressing it. I’m sorry I asked you to leave last night. I’m sorry I chose to speak to Gabriel instead of maybe kissing you, because he means next to nothing to me, and you… well. You .. I…” he seemed to run out of words and so Anthony turned to him, taking his hands gently in his own and interlacing their fingers. 

“Hey now angel. It’s OK. It’s OK. No need to apologize. And for the record. I was going to.”

“Going to what?” Aziraphale’s sweet, innocent face made Anthony’s heart clench painfully inside his chest. 

“Kiss you. I was going to kiss you” He finished, keeping his eyes trained on Aziraphale’s face, looking for clues that he’d be welcomed in were he to move closer. The other man’s face broke into a beatific smile. 

“Oh good” he said through another shaky exhalation of breath. “I was worried that you just wanted to be friends.”

“I do.” Anthony replied, then rushed to explain further when he saw Aziraphale’s smile die a little “I _am_ your friend already. I love spending time with you. We’re not _not_ friends, but… I’d also like more. To be with you too. To be… I don’t know, closer to you?”

“Anthony, I’m not looking for anything casual. I’m not built like that. I…”

“Me neither” Anthony said softly as he stepped a little closer to Aziraphale, his eyes dropping to the man’s worried mouth. “I don’t do casual anymore.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Aziraphale stepped closer as well. “Because I.. I fancy you quite a bit.”

“I fancy you too” Anthony stepped up very close to Aziraphale now, releasing his hands in favor of winding his arms around Aziraphales neck, feeling weak in the knees as their faces drew closer. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice gone all rough with emotion. 

Aziraphale nodded and so Anthony finally closed the small gap between them and pressed his lips very gently against Aziraphale’s, letting his eyes drift shut as he did so. The feeling of Aziraphale’s soft lips against his own made his head spin, made him feel like he could come apart and drift away on the breeze. He pulled back, light headed and panting a little to look into a pair of luminous gray-green eyes. 

“Anthony” Aziraphale said his name so softly, like it were a wish, a prayer. 

“Angel” Anthony whispered and kissed him again. He had to pull back again before he deepened the kiss, remembering that they were in public. Aziraphale seemed to remember this as well and they broke apart, but Anthony kept Azirpahale’s hand in his own and swung it between them lazily as Aziraphale picked up his bag they kept walking around the lake. He felt his heart bursting inside his chest in little joyful fireworks as he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand in his and the two men walked side by side for a few more minutes. 

“I need to go get ready for tonight” he said once their walk took them near the entrance to the park. He hated to leave Aziraphale after what had just happened, but his schedule wouldn’t wait. Aziraphale seemed prepared to wish him a polite goodbye, and so he pulled the other man behind a small copse of trees and swiftly pressed their lips together again. This time, he did deepen the kiss, finding Azirapahle’s mouth open and hot and welcoming against his own. Their tongues got acquainted in a slick dance that made Anthony’s body feel as if it had burst into flames. Aziraphale was making soft little mewling noises against his lips and reaching his fingers into Anthony’s loose hair. Things were getting very heated very quickly, and they were still in public, so he pulled away again. 

“I want you”. Aziraphale said against Anthony’s open, panting mouth, then turned bashful at his own words and looked down, blushing furiously, chest rising and falling at a rate that betrayed his own arousal. 

“Dear god angel, I want you too. You have no idea how much. Tonight? After my set? You can come over to mine?” His heart sang as he saw Aziraphale nod eagerly in agreement. 

They parted ways then, with a few more chaste but lingering pecks to the lips, Anthony catching a cab to his flat to prepare for his shift at the club. As the cab pulled away from the park entrance, he looked back to see Aziraphale looking after it, a hand pressed gently to his mouth, as if in disbelief that he’d just been kissing Anthony’s lips. Anthony placed a hand to his own mouth, watching Aziraphale until the cab turned a corner at the end of the block, obscuring the other man from view. He sighed and collapsed back into the seat, grinning like a fool. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is long, but hopefully enjoyable. Warning! Here Be Smut. Also, important conversations about STI risk. Also, happy angels and horny demons ;)

Aziraphale exited Anathema’s car, along with she and Newt (who’d been invited along at the last minute) and the three of them approached the entrance to Anthony’s club. Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat at the thought of seeing the gorgeous man dance again, especially after what they’d shared in the park. 

He’d tried to stay calm after Anthony had said goodbye. Had tried not to lose himself in fantasies of being together with Anthony, of what might transpire later that night when they were alone. He tried not to immediately begin thinking of Anthony as his boyfriend. His partner. It was far too early for that. They’d only kissed a few times. And yet, he had a certainty about the other man inside his heart that told him this was something important and true and good. Something he wanted very much to protect and nurture. He was thrilled to his core at the thought of finally being with Anthony, alone, naked, inside the man’s flat, behind closed doors. The thoughts that accompanied this realization were so heated that he had to push them from his mind in order to go about his day in any sort of normal fashion. He couldn’t very well man the counter of his shop with a raging erection for the rest of the day. 

He’d called Anathema shortly after returning home and had filled her in on what had transpired. She responded by shrieking at the top of her lungs and then squealing delightedly into his ear, telling him how proud she was and making a constant stream of dirty jokes until he scolded her fondly over it and invited her out to the club that evening. He made sure to tell her that he’d be going home with Anthony after the show (more squealing), and so she’d decided to invite Newt. She’d kissed the shy young man a few times, but they hadn’t taken it further yet, and so it was Aziraphale’s turn to make dirty jokes at Anathema, which she chuckled at indulgently. 

After they rang off, Aziraphale did his best to focus on work around the shop. He shelved a few boxes of books that had come in recently, helped a customer find just the right version of Twelfth Night and helped another customer narrow down their search for a steamy book of erotic poems for their partner. He couldn’t help but let this set him adrift on fantasies of touching Anthony’s body and kissing Anthony’s lips until the customer asked him another question and dragged him out of his musings and back to the present moment. 

The time seemed to drag until Anathema and Newt picked him up at quarter past nine. He’d been sure to dress impeccably, this time leaving his bowtie out of the ensemble, finding it far too formal a look for what he planned on doing later that evening. Instead, he’d worn a simple white button-down shirt with the top two buttons daringly (for him) undone, a pair of cream colored trousers and his ever present coat. He’d spent extra time trying to tame his wild hair into some sort of a style, only to give up and simply ruffle it with his hands until it was wild and curly. Anthony had remarked on it looking like a halo, and this pleased Aziraphale. If it was a halo he wanted, then that’s what he’d get. 

As the three of them approached the club, heard the pumping music from inside and saw the flashing blue and purple lights through the front facing windows, Aziraphale felt a stab of nervous tension run through him. He’d tried to ignore all of his self doubts in the hours leading up to this evening, but they had crept in anyway. What if Anthony was disappointed in Aziraphale’s naked body? What if Aziraphale’s sexual skills weren’t as honed as he’d imagined they were? Anthony had so much more experience than he did in this area. What if he made some sort of unforgivable faux pas in bed? What if their sexual styles didn’t mesh well? He thought belatedly about the state of his toenails and how they were getting a bit unruly. All of these worries started to pile up as they entered the club and worked their way towards a table at the front, near the stage, that Anthony had reserved for them. 

Once they were seated, and had ordered drinks, coincidentally from the same waiter, who introduced himself as “Jimmy.” This time he was sporting a black Cleopatra style wig and tight black mini dress. After the young man had clicked away on his spike heels, they chatted amiably as they waited for Anthony’s routine to start. 

“My, this place is quite glamorous,” Newt exclaimed, looking around him with wide eyes. “I’ve never been to a strip club before,” he admitted. 

“Bet you thought it would be a female one the first time didn’t you?” Anathema said with a smile. 

“Well, yes, to be honest, I did, but this is great.” Newt returned her smile with such warm affection written across his features that Aziraphale knew instantly that he’d fallen for Anathema. 

“Are you nervous?” Anathema turned to Aziraphale, her hand coming to rest gently against his arm. 

“You have no idea,” he replied with a stiff smile. She nodded in understanding. 

“He’s crazy about you. I can tell,” she said reassuringly. 

“It seems that he is rather fond of me after all,” Aziraphale allowed himself a moment to sit with the feeling of joyful warmth that accompanied thoughts of Anthony wanting him. Why did he have such a fear of letting himself know that something was good. That someone loved him back? He silently cursed his stiff religious parents for probably the thousandth time since he left their house and struck out on his own. If they had been better at telling him he was loved and wanted, then maybe he wouldn’t doubt it so relentlessly. 

A few minutes later, the lights in the club dimmed, just as a low, throbbing tune came through the club sound system. It was sensual sounding music, drum beats and bells chiming throughout. 

“He’s coming on!” Anathema squealed and grabbed Aziraphale by the arm. Both of them kept their eyes trained to the stage as the music continued for half a minute before the curtains at the back parted and Anthony’s arm and leg slid into view. He was moving his arm in serpentine undulations and as he slowly stepped from behind the curtain, Aziraphale felt his breath hitch. 

Anthony was shirtless, his dark copper hair down and falling about his shoulders in lazy ripples. He had on a pair of tight black pants with a swath of gold material, covered in tiny bells tied around his hips. His feet were bare. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, but his eyes were thickly outlined in kohl, and his skin was shining with metallic glitter. He stepped slowly towards the center of the stage, and with every step, he snapped his hips from side to side, making the bells chime out as an accompaniment to his movements. When he reached the center of the stage, he raised his undulating arms over his head and rolled his stomach so that his entire body was rippling with movement. He looked like a serpent, in the best way possible. Aziraphale tried and failed to keep his eyes away from the man’s hips and arse, which Anthony was now shaking swiftly, right to left in a tight shimmy that made his lower half jingle, while his upper half stayed completely stationary. 

He was doing a belly dance. Aziraphale hadn’t known men could belly dance. Apparently yes, because Anthony was doing a fantastic job. His arms rippled, his abdominal muscles twitched as his hips snapped from side to side in time with the music, making the tiny bells at his waist jingle cheerily with every movement. The crowd exploded in applause and there were several sharp whistles, hoots and loud exclamations ringing out from the audience. Aziraphale was entranced. The man’s body was a live wire, jerking, twitching, undulating in the most mesmerizing ways as he turned about on the stage, his skin gleaming, his face an impassive mask. 

Anthony slowly bent his spine backwards, letting his head and his long red hair fall back while reaching his hands up to the ceiling, fingers twirling at the ends of undulating arms. He came upright again and bent swiftly into a squat with arms straight out at his sides, then back up into a standing position, his hips returning to their side to side snaps. The man’s pelvis was mesmerising. Aziraphale suddenly remembered that he might have the incredible honor of seeing what else those hips could do later tonight, and he felt his face flush with heat. How could this beautiful, sexy creature up on stage want him? Want to be with him? He felt a thrill of fear lance through his belly at the thought of Anthony rejecting him for being too plain, too inexperienced, then silently admonished himself. That had been real desire, real affection he’d seen in Anthony’s eyes in the park. The man had grabbed him and kissed him with such fervor earlier this same day. The memory was enough to mollify his fears for the moment, as he watched Anthony slink back and forth on the stage above them. 

Anthony pranced slowly over to one side of the stage, hips still swinging, and sank to his knees to allow a patron to tuck a few pound notes into the waistband of his tight trousers, then crawled like some sort of insanely sexy jungle cat along the edge of the stage, pausing to shake his hips in the direction of the grinning men lining the stage. Several people reached out and tucked money behind the edge of the gold material strapped across his hips. He was working his way around to Aziraphale’s side of the table, and suddenly Aziraphale panicked. He hadn’t thought to bring any cash with him, and honestly, he didn’t know how he felt about tipping Anthony this way. It was awkward and not something he’d do under any other circumstances. 

Anthony slunk closer, collecting pound notes as he went, at one point, lying on his back pushing up into a backwards arch, then doing a walk over into a push up position. The audience roared their appreciation, and more hands, clenching paper money shot out towards him from the crowd. 

As he rounded the edge of the stage and drew close to where Newt, Anathema and Aziraphale sat, he leapt down from the stage in a graceful motion and danced his way towards their table. Aziraphale, not knowing what to expect next, kept his hungry eyes trained on Anthony’s lovely face as the man sauntered closer. Then, without warning, Anthony straddled Aziraphale’s hips and was sinking into his lap. Aziraphale’s face went even hotter at the feel of the beautiful, lanky man on top of him. Anthony draped slender arms around Aziraphale shoulders and settled his weight on top of Aziraphale’s thighs. He looked down into Aziraphale’s surprised eyes and grinned wickedly, and then he ground their crotches together in a slow roll of his bell clad hips. Aziraphale might have let out an embarrassing noise. His eyes might have rolled back in his head a little. He could hear Anathema giggling happily next to him and the audience renewing their applause at the show Anthony was putting on. 

Thankfully, Anthony only executed a few slow rolls of his hips atop Aziaphale’s lap before gracefully standing up again, or else Aziraphale would have an embarrassing situation on his hands. He didn’t have an exhibitionistic bone in his body, or he’d have been incredibly aroused by this sudden change of events. It took everything he had to keep his hands to himself while Anthony had been sitting in his lap, but even he, a complete amateur strip club audience member knew that you never touch the dancers. Anthony walked around Aziraphale, dragging a hand slowly across his shoulders, before stopping briefly to kiss Anathema’s cheek and ruffle Newt’s hair. Newt, who blushed a bright pink color. 

The red haired man’s routine ended shortly afterwards and he bowed gracefully at the waist before exiting the stage. The audience went wild, and more whistles and shouts accompanied Anthony as he pranced from the stage and disappeared behind the curtains again. 

Anathema looked like she might be having a medical emergency from how hard she was laughing. She grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and jumped up and down, squealing in pleasure. “Holy shit Azi! Holy shit! He straight up gave you a lap dance! How did that feel?”

Aziraphale’s face must have been a sight, for her eyes went wide as he turned his dazed expression towards her. “I didn’t know he was going to do that,” he said, still off balance. Still feeling Anthony’s long, slender legs bracketing his hips, the man’s arse grinding against him. 

“Did you like it?” She asked, eyes gleaming. 

“Of course I did. I… It’s just that… I. Was I supposed to tip him?”

“No, I think he wanted to tip you.” Anathema’s eyes sparkled with mischief. 

They drank their drinks and talked about Anthony’s performance for a few minutes until they were joined by the man himself. Anthony had donned a thin black jumper and had removed the gold lame girdle of bells, but his eyes were still lined in black, and his skin still gleamed with silver and gold glitter at his cheekbones and on the backs of his hands. He gave Newt and Anathema swift hugs before falling into Aziraphale’s arms and giving him a warm kiss on the cheek. Aziraphale squeezed Anthony’s slender body, reveling briefly in the lovely feel of being pressed against the other man, before they pulled apart. 

“At this point,” he said with a grin, “all three of you are covered with metallic glitter. I’m sorry, but that stuff is forever. You’ll be finding pieces of it for months.” They all chuckled, and Aziraphale felt his chest warm over the thought of finding little gleaming flecks of silver and gold on his person in the weeks to come… reminders of this night and what would hopefully transpire later. 

“You were fantastic!” Anathema exclaimed.

“Yes. quite something,” Newt added, still a bit pink about the cheeks from Anthony ruffling his hair during the performance. 

“Yes,” echoed Aziraphale. “You were wonderful”. 

“Was it OK that I gave you that little lap dance?” Anthony turned to face Aziraphale, a look of mild concern on his features. 

“Oh, it was more than OK,” Aziraphale grinned shyly at him. “I was taken aback a bit, but it was just fine. More than fine. Very enjoyable.” He realized he was babbling slightly and stopped talking, dropped his eyes away from Anthony’s beautiful, grinning face. 

“I didn’t know men did belly dance,” This from Newt, who had taken the words out of Aziraphale’s mouth.

“Yes, they do,” Anthony replied. “I took classes a few years ago to widen my repertoire, and I’ve seen several very talented male belly dancers in my travels. Did you like it?” He was looking directly at Aziraphale as he asked this, not at Newt or Anathema.

“I loved it,” Azirapahale replied softly, and he meant it. 

They chatted for another half an hour or so, laughing at Newt’s silly puns and sharing another round of drinks. Anthony kept looking at Aziraphale with something serious and heated glimmering behind his eyes. Aziraphale looked back cautiously, feeling his body heating up from being the focus of Anthony’s gaze. The conversation died down and Anathema, god bless her, piped up that perhaps it was time for she and Newt to get going. 

The two men wished the young couple a good night and more hugs followed. When Anathema embraced Aziraphale, she whispered into his ear 

“Have fun tonight,” then pulled back and smiled warmly at him. He grinned foolishly back at her and gave her a little nod. 

And then they were alone. 

“Shall we head out?” Anthony asked, returning his burning gaze to Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale nodded swiftly. 

“Did you drive?” he asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

Anthony laughed. “I took a cab. I didn’t want to ruin the evening by driving.”

Aziraphale chuckled at Anthony’s self deprecating joke as he rose and grabbed his coat. He followed Anthony to the coat check room to get his leather jacket and the two of them made their way to the car park where Anthony called a cab on his mobile. They stood there for a few minutes, waiting for the cab to arrive, and Anthony, caution echoing in the way he held his body, stepped closer. 

Aziraphale felt his breath catch in his throat as the slender man drew nearer and looked into his eyes. Anthony reached up and placed his soft, long fingered hands to the sides of Aziraphale’s face and pulled him into a gentle kiss. Aziraphale felt his insides twist deliciously, and he moaned softly against Anthony’s lips. The other man pulled away with a sigh.

“If I keep kissing you, I’ll do something indecent, and we’re in public,” he said, but then belied his own words as he snaked his hands around Aziraphale’s waist and pulled him close. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Anthony’s neck and leaned up so that their mouths were centimeters apart. 

“We wouldn’t want that,” he teased, surprising himself by the flirtatious tone in his voice. He pulled Anthony into another soft, closed mouthed kiss that didn’t stay closed mouthed for long. Within seconds, they were snogging passionately, Anthony’s hands pulling Aziraphale closer by his hips and Azirphale felt his head spin and his body catch fire. He lost track of time as he reveled in the delicious taste of Anthony’s mouth, the slick, hot feel of his tongue sliding against his own. 

A polite half-horn blast from the cabbie brought both men suddenly back to reality and grinning, they got into the back of the cab. Anthony gave the cabbie the address to his flat and settled back into the seat, welcoming Aziraphael to sit against him with an arm around his shoulders. Aziraphale’ settled happily against Anthony’s side and buried his face boldly in the other man’s warm neck. He wasn’t quite comfortable with kissing in the back of a cab, it felt rude to the cabbie, but he simply couldn’t keep from touching Anthony. Now that he had the man next to him, it seemed impossible to leave him alone. And Anthony welcomed the touch happily, eagerly. 

They interlaced their fingers together and Anthony executed lazy circles with his thumb against Aziraphale’s palm in a way that should not have been as astoundingly erotic as it was. Aziraphale was rock hard already, just from sitting next to Anthony, and he was grateful for the cover of his coat. His head was dancing with imaginings over what would happen once they were alone together. As if to provide a soundtrack for his fantasies, Anthony leaned over until his lips were next to Aziraphale’s ear. 

“I’m going to make love to you in every way imaginable tonight,” he whispered, and Aziraphale moaned as Anthony’s hot breath collided with his ear. He snuggled deeper into Anthony’s side and dared to press a soft kiss to the side of Anthony’s long, white neck, delighting in the vibrations he felt as the man groaned in response. 

The ride seemed endless, but it was only a ten minute trip before they pulled up outside of Anthony’s flat. He paid the cabbie, who smiled and said “you gents have a good night” with a wink, before driving off. And then they were alone. The lift doors had barely closed before Antony had Aziraphale pressed up against one wall, their mouths clashing together, open and hot and desperate. Aziraphale’s hands pulled Anthony’s jumper up and gripped Anthony’s narrow waist in his hands, pulling the slender man against him. Anthony pressed their pelvises together, rolling his hips to rub his erection against Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale moaned into Anthony’s mouth. The lift dinged and they stumbled out into the hallway, somehow getting Anthony’s flat door unlocked and getting inside without shedding all of their clothes. 

Once inside, Anthony pulled away regretfully, holding a flushed and panting Aziraphale at arms length. “I need to take a shower,” he said, voice gruff with passion.

“No you don’t darling. Lets just…” Aziraphale hated the thought of Anthony doing anything other than kissing him and rubbing up against him right now.

“I really do,” Anthony countered with an indulgent smile. “Believe me, you do not want to get too much of this stuff in your mouth.”His hand waved at the glitter still festooning much of his face. “Well,” he said. “Any more of it anyway. You’ve probably ingested enough to cause a minor medical condition.” 

He must have seen the horrified look flitting across Aziraphale’s face, for he was quick to reassure him with a chuckle. “No, no. I’m kidding. It’s harmless in small amounts, but I still don’t want you with a glittering tongue, as much as that idea appeals to me in an aesthetic sense. I won’t be too long. Make yourself at home.” He waved his hand towards the kitchen and after a far-too brief kiss, sauntered off down a short hallway to what Aziraphale assumed was the lavatory. 

Aziraphale felt suddenly left hanging. His body was still on fire for Anthony, he was still stiff and straining against the confines of his trousers. He occupied himself for a few minutes by looking around Anthony’s flat. It was sparsely furnished with a small shelf of books, mostly an eclectic mix of astronomy, horticulture and a few collections of dirty cartoons from the twenties and thirties. There was a statue of two angels wrestling that looked a touch homoerotic, and a large, black leather sofa. 

He could hear the shower water running from the lavatory down the hall and felt himself getting excited at the thought of Anthony, wet and soapy, hot water running down the narrow planes of his chest and back. He very briefly entertained the idea of joining the man, but rejected it immediately. He always found showering with someone a very romantic idea, that didn’t work out well in practice. Someone was always soapy and cold while their partner was warm under the spray of water. And then there was the fact that water was death to friction. Instead, he sat primly on the edge of the black sofa and waited, trying not to completely lose himself in fantasies of what was to come next. 

He couldn’t help but jump slightly as he heard the water shut off and heard the shower curtain swept aside. Imaginings of Anthony’s wet, naked body dancing through his head. After another minute or two, Anthony reappeared, wearing a pair of pyjama bottoms and nothing else, his hair falling in damp tangles about his shoulders. His eyes were still smudged with eyeliner, and he looked unbelievably beautiful. Aziraphale rose to meet him as Anthony walked directly to him and into his arms. They kissed, tentatively at first, reestablishing physical contact, but soon, Aziraphale was opening his mouth against Anthony’s, sucking on the man’s plump lower lip and hearing him groan with desire.

“Come with me,” the red haired man whispered against Aziraphale’s mouth and pulled him by the hand toward the bedroom. Aziraphale followed like a puppy, his renewed erection throbbing, his heart catching in his throat as he walked down the short hallway toward a door at the far end. 

Anthony’s bed was large and soft, made up neatly with a black comforter and red sheets. Aziraphale nervously thought of how many other men might have been inside this bed with Anthony. He tried to banish those thoughts from his mind, reminding himself that he was the one here and now with this incredible man, having Anthony all to himself. 

Anthony pulled the covers back, then turned to Aziraphale with a sly grin on his face. “You’re wearing far too many layers,” he said, rough and low, in a voice that sent shivers down Aziraphale’s spine. 

Aziraphale swiftly shed his coat and began working at the buttons of his shirt, while Anthony pulled the shirt up and out of the top of his trousers and began unbuckling Aziraphale’s belt. Soon, Aziraphale had his shirt and undershirt off and was able to push his trousers and pants down to his ankles and step out of them, leaving him totally nude. Anthony looked down at Aziraphale’s naked body with such glowing desire in his eyes that Aziraphale felt immediately at ease over being exposed like this. 

“You’re beautiful,” Anthony breathed, bringing a soft hand up to stroke the side of Aziraphale’s neck, causing the blond man’s eyes to flutter closed in pleasure. 

“I’m not,” Aziraphale said reflexively. 

“Don’t ever say that to me again.” Anthony’s voice was stern and serious, so Aziraphale opened his eyes to look at him, and was struck by the intense emotion reflected in their glowing, amber depths. “You’re fucking gorgeous. And not just on the outside. You’re.. You’re, fantastic Aziraphale. I won’t stand to hear you disparage yourself like that.” 

Aziraphale was speechless, so he only nodded numbly, mesmerized by the heat in Anthony’s gaze and the conviction in his voice. Upon seeing that his message was made clear, Anthony dropped his own bottoms to the floor and it was Aziraphale’s turn to look in awe at the long, pale beauty of Anthony’s naked body. They were both sporting stiff erections, and Aziraphale took a few swift moments to let his eyes caress Anthony’s long, dark cock before the other men pulled him into a kiss and pressed their bodies together. It was indescribable. The feel of having Anthony, silky and naked and hot in his arms, his soft lips against Aziraphale’s. He let out a low moan and heard an echoing noise from Anthony, who broke the kiss just long enough to climb onto the bed. Aziraphale followed close behind him.

After making sure they were comfortable, lying facing one another on their sides, Anthony pressed himself against Aziraphale and they wrapped their arms around each other. Aziraphale, head swimming, let his hands roam across Anthony’s skin as they continued kissing. The hungry fingers of his hand that wasn’t trapped beneath Anthony, found their way around Anthony’s waist and up across the finely muscled planes of his back as Anthony drove his hand into Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale was overwhelmed by the smell and feel of Anthony’s skin, by the hot wet movement of their mouths as they kissed. He thrust his hips against Anthony and dear god the feel of the man’s cock sliding against his own between them. He moaned loudly at the sparking friction. 

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Anthony was saying between kisses. “Ever since I first saw you. I wanted you.”

“Oh dearest. Yes.” Aziraphale tilted his head back as Anthony began worshiping his neck with sloppy kisses. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Anthony murmured against the skin of Aziraphale’s neck. “So lovely. So sexy. I can’t believe I finally have you in my bed.”

Aziraphale’s face grew hot at the sudden praise. He didn’t know how to respond, so he simply lost himself in the unbelievable pleasure and thrust himself against Anthony with renewed fervor. Anthony’s words though, made their way into his conscious mind and worked a magic trick of sorts. Anthony said he was beautiful, and so he felt beautiful. Anthony said he’d wanted Aziraphale, and so Aziraphale felt wanted. 

“I wanted you too,” he spat out in a breathless voice, wanting, needing to express some small part of this feeling that was building inside him with a volcanic pressure. His head was spinning with lust and the feel of Anthony’s hot mouth against his neck “I thought about this a lot. About being with you. I didn’t know you felt the same way, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you, ever since that first night we met.” He felt Anthony smile against his skin. 

Anthony pulled back for a moment and gave Aziraphale a serious look. “Angel, before we go any further, I want you to know that I’ve been tested, for a full spectrum of STIs since my last lover, and they’ve all come back negative. When was the last time you’ve been tested? If you haven’t, that’s perfectly fine, we’ll just have to get imaginative.” He gave Aziraphale a lopsided grin.

Aziraphale was a little taken aback by the change in subject, but pleased that Anthony wanted to keep them safe. “I was tested for everything after Lucien. He was cheating on me, so I went and got checked out. My tests came back negative as well.”

Anthony grinned. “I’m fine with foregoing the use of condoms if you are angel.”

Aziraphale felt himself grow hot at the thought of feeling Anthony inside his mouth or other choice places without any barriers between them and shivered. “Yes. I’d love that,” he replied shyly. 

“What do you want?” Anthony asked, pressing himself up against Aziraphale. “What can I do for you? Tell me angel. Tell me and I’ll do it”

Aziraphale grew suddenly shy. He wanted so many things, had never been given carte blanche permission to ask for them. “Could I… could I suck you?” he asked, and heard Anthony’s gasp in response. 

“Oh fuck, angel. Of course you can.” He leaned back and fixed Aziraphale with a quizzical look, “if you’re sure you want to.”

“I want to probably more than I’ve wanted anything before this moment, so yes,” Aziraphale responded, before he began placing gentle, slow kisses down Anthony’s neck. Anthony lay back, moaning softly, keeping his fingers curled in Aziraphale’s hair as Aziraphale kissed his way slowly down Anthony’s body.

“Oh fuck. Oh angel. Oh fuck, that feels so good. I can’t wait for you to suck me. That mouth of yours, that beautiful mouth. Fuck.” he was very verbal, something Aziraphale wasn’t used to, but was growing to love with every passing second, as Anthony’s searing hot words made his ears burn and his cock twitch in response. He wondered what other sorts of noises and words he could pull out of Anthony with his mouth. He worked his way down across Anthony’s flat stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into the man’s shallow, adorable little belly button, all the way to his hips. Soon, he was slathering wet kisses into the tender flesh to the side of the man’s straining cock, delighting in the smell of Anthony’s skin, and the hoarse pleas falling from the man’s lips. 

“Oh god. Oh angel. Fuck. Please put your mouth on me,” he begged, voice reedy and higher pitched than usual. He tightened his grip in Aziraphale’s hair, and so Aziraphale pulled back and sank down onto Anthony’s cock, taking as much as he could in that first mouthful. 

“Oh! Oh fuck!” Anthony arched off the bed slightly, crying out at the feel of Azirpahale’s mouth on him, and Aziraphale sank a bit further down his shaft. Dear god, he tasted amazing, and the feel of his thick cock filling Aziraphale’s mouth was indescribable. He wanted this to be good for Anthony. Wanted to give him as much pleasure as possible, so he started out slowly, pulling back and sinking down in a gentle rhythm with his lips and tongue caressing Anthony’s shaft lovingly. 

The copper haired man was looking down at Aziraphale, his eyes dilated, his mouth parted and panting, his voice had gone soft and broken as he praised Aziraphale’s skills. Aziraphale tried to take as much of Anthony’s cock into his mouth as he could, letting the head press against the back of his throat and caressing the underside of the shaft with his tongue. Anthony yelled and thrust gently up into Aziraphale’s mouth, and Aziraphale loved how what he was doing to Anthony was causing the man to lose control. He felt powerful and aroused and so full of love that he almost couldn’t bear it. His own cock was hard to the point of being painful where it lay, trapped against Anthony’s shins.

“You’re going to make me come so hard baby. You’re mouth is so fucking good. It feels so hot. I won’t last long baby. Oh fuck, my angel. Oh fuck,” Anthony was letting out a constant stream of filthy hot words, as he gently thrust up into Aziraphale’s mouth and tightened his grip in Aziraphale’s hair. Aziraphale nodded and moaned around Anthony’s shaft, hoping to telegraph that it was alright for him to let go, and Anthony apparently got the message, because he arched his back and gasped out that he was coming, and Aziraphale felt the hot, wet flush of Anthony’s semen filling his mouth. Anthony groaned as he continued shooting in Aziraphale’s mouth for a few more seconds, and Aziraphale happily swallowed it all down, simultaneously slowing and gentling the movements of his lips and tongue so that he didn’t drive the other man over the edge into oversensitivity. The feel of Anthony losing control almost made Aziraphale come against the mattress, but he held back.

When he was certain Anthony’s orgasm had reached its end, he slowly, carefully pulled up and off of his lover’s softening cock, making sure to keep a tight seal with his lips so as not to lose one delicious drop of his essence. Afterwards, he crawled up to lie next to a loose and panting Anthony, who turned to look at him with an expression of such ruined happiness that Aziraphale felt his breath catch in his chest. 

“That was… fuck… angel. That was fantastic,” Anthony said, pulling Aziraphale to him into an embrace and kissing him, his tongue seeking out his own taste inside Aziraphale’s mouth. Before Aziraphale could say anything, Anthony had reached a hand down to wap it around his aching cock and began stroking him, gently. “Is this OK?” he asked “Can I stroke you off like this?” and Aziraphale nodded swiftly. “You feel so good in my hand,” Anthony murmured against Aziraphale’s lips as Aziraphale gasped and thrust into Anthony’s grip. 

Anthony kept working Aziraphale with his hand while kissing him, deep and slow, and in a very short while, Aziraphale felt himself tighten and explode, coating Anthony’s pumping hand and wrist with hot semen as he groaned against Anthony’s mouth. 

“That’s it baby. Yes. Come for me. Yes,” Anthony crooned into the hot space between their mouths as Aziraphale thrust arrhythmically into his tight grip, gasping out as waves of pleasure pulsed through him. Eventually, he slowly came down from the high of his orgasm and fell onto his back, panting, and wrung out. Anthony swiftly rolled out of bed and returned a short while later with a warm, wet flannel and proceeded to clean them both up before snuggling against Aziraphale’s side, slinging a long, slender leg across Aziraphale’s hips. 

“How are you feeling angel?” he asked, placing soft, gentle kisses to the side of Aziraphale’s face, wriggling in closer and squeezing Aziraphale tight. 

“Like I might float away if you don’t hold me down,” Aziraphale replied, still a little breathless from the strength of his orgasm, feeling warm and tingly in Anthony’s arms. 

“That sounds good,” Anthony replied, a warm smile in his voice. 

“You?” Aziraphale asked, hoping he didn’t sound as invested in the answer as he really was. His prior partners had been short on compliments, and he’d always craved being told he’d done well in this department. 

“Your mouth is so good it should be illegal,” Anthony replied lazily and Aziraphale let out a surprised bark of laughter. “Seriously angel, it was amazing.” he added, burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck and breathing deeply. 

They lay there like that for a while. Aziraphale must have drifted off, because he came back to consciousness an indeterminate time later to the feel of Anthony thrusting his renewed erection against Aziraphale’s hip. He realized that he was also rock hard and throbbing simply from being close to Anthony, from smelling his skin and feeling his warmth. He moaned and thrust up against the inside of Anthony’s slender thigh that was still draped low across his belly. Anthony rolled on top of him and captured Aziraphale’s sleep softened mouth in a slow, deep kiss, rubbing them together in the process. 

“You feel so good angel,” Anthony whispered between kisses. “What do you want next? What can I do for you?” as if he lived to serve Aziraphale’s every whim. Aziraphale felt humbled at being treated this way. Like someone precious who deserved to be catered to in the bedroom. It was a gift he was sure he could learn to grow to accept, but right now, it felt like something strange and magical, and just a little hard to believe.

“I want…” Aziraphale knew what he wanted, but was suddenly shy about asking for it. 

“Yes?" Anthony was thrusting down against him with slow, deliberate rolls of his hips that made Aziraphale’s brain short circuit temporarily. “What do you want baby? Tell me.”

“I… I want you.. Inside me,” Aziraphale managed to get out between kisses. Instantly blushing. He’d never had to ask for anything sexually before, as his prior lovers handn’t been big on verbal communication during sex. They’d simply done what they liked (which luckily had also been things that Aziraphale liked) and he’d let them. Anthony, by comparison was so very expressive and solicitous. 

The red haired man grinned at hearing Aziraphale’s request and moaned in the back of his throat. “Oh angel. I’d love that. But only if you’re certain…” he paused, wanting to hear Aziraphale reassert his desires. 

“I couldn’t be any more certain darling. Yes. Please. I want you inside me.” Aziraphale thrust up against him as he spoke, causing more moans from the man on top of him. 

“Oh fuck yes. Yes. I’ll be happy to oblige.” his eyes were gleaming as they looked down into Aziraphale’s.

Anthony rolled off of him to fish around in his bedside table. He came back with a small bottle of lube and placed it on the bed next to them, within easy reach. Then he climbed back on top of Aziraphale to lie fully against him, and kissed him again, wrapping his hands in Aziraphale’s hair and rubbing their naked bodies together. Aziraphale was beyond excited. He hadn’t had this kind of sex in years, and he’d missed it very much. He wasn’t the type to use sex toys, and so he hadn’t even done much in that area on his own, other than fucking himself with his fingers ocasionally when he masturbated. The thought of having Anthony’s gorgeous cock inside him was incredibly exciting. 

Anthony meanwhile seemed to be working himself up on top of Aziraphale, for he pulled back from their kiss gasping. “Can I open you up with my fingers baby?” he asked gently and Aziraphale nodded, spreading his legs and letting Anthony fall between them by way of a welcome invitation.

Anthony scooted down between Aziraphale’s thighs onto his knees, and kept his eyes trained on Aziraphale’s face as he sank two of his long fingers into his own mouth to get them slick with saliva. He really put on a show, locking his eyes with Aziraphale’s and moaning around his fingers as he pumped them in and out of his mouth a few times, and Aziraphale felt his insides coil tightly in anticipation. “Mmmm. I want to suck you off so badly,” Anthony said as he reached down between Aziraphale’s legs and gently probed his tight opening with slick fingers. “That’s what I want to do after I’ve fucked you. I want you to come in my mouth.”

The combination of the feel of Anthony’s fingers, just starting to work their way inside Aziraphale, with Anthony’s soft words about wanting to suck Aziraphale had him throbbing with excitement. “Oh yes, darling. Yes. I want you to suck me too. If your cock doesn’t make me come, I want you to… to finish me off with your mouth.” He was getting into the swing of dirty talk and found it thrilling.

Anthony moaned upon hearing Aziraphale’s words and slowly sank his fingers inside the heat of Aziraphale’s body, and Aziraphale arched against their aching pressure and moaned back. 

“You feel so tight and so hot, angel” Anthony’s voice was rough and low as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out. “I can’t wait to sink my cock inside your tight little arse.”

Aziraphale’s face grew hot at hearing such bold, explicit words from Anthony’s mouth. It was beyond exciting to hear his lover say things he’d only ever dared think before in the privacy of his own mind. It kicked the whole experience up a notch. 

Anthony leaned over and grabbed the bottle of lube, removing his fingers for a tortuous few seconds, long enough to slick them with the lubricant before sinking them back home again, causing Aziraphale to cry out and arch his back further, his cock, bobbing thick and stiff against his belly. 

“It’s taking everything I have not to suck you off right now, with my fingers inside you,” Anthony said, but he must have known that would be too much for Aziraphale, so instead he pulled himself up onto his knees and removed his fingers again. This time in order to pour a portion of the lube into his palm and slick his stiff cock with a few swift strokes. “Are you ready angel? Are you ready for me?” He asked, positioning himself at Aziraphale’s entrance as Aziraphale’s knees came up to bracket Anthony’s hips. He was waiting for permission. Aziraphale felt a warm flash of affection at being so cared for and considered. 

“Yes, dearest. Please.” He was a panting mess at this point, and thought he might die if Anthony didn’t fuck him soon. Anthony nodded swiftly and pressed inside. He’d done a good job with his fingers and so he could sink slowly, taking his time, but moving inexorably forward.

“Is this good angel?” he asked, voice gone soft and reverent. “More?” 

Aziraphale nodded by way of response and wriggled his hips just a little, striving to impale himself further. Anthony slowly sank all the way to the hilt inside Aziraphale, pulling a gasp and a loud moan from both of them as he bottomed out. He pulled out and thrust gently back in and Aziraphale cried out and reached down to grab him by the hips, trying to pull him closer. 

“Oh,” Anthony’s voice was ragged around the edges. “Oh angel. You feel too good.”

“Anthony. Give me more. Don’t hold back.” Aziraphale needed Anthony to fuck him, hard. Needed to feel the man’s cock filling him, pounding into him. He gripped at Anthony’s hips and tried to drag him closer still. Anthony complied by thrusting into Aziraphale at a faster pace, panting, hips working, his skin gleaming with sweat as he struggled to hold onto his orgasm long enough to give Aziraphale what he wanted. “Don’t hold back,” Aziraphale said again, and this time Anthony growled and started fucking him in earnest, his hips snapping. His cock head jutted up against aziraphale’s prostate with every thrust, causing tingles to shoot up Aziraphale’s spine and across his scalp. 

Aziraphale knew he’d come if Anthony kept fucking him like this, but also that the other man was on edge, rushing to his pleasure very quickly, so he held back as best he could. 

“I’m going to come baby. I’m going to come angel. I can’t… I… Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” Anthony’s voice was strained and rough. His thrusts grew erratic and he moaned low in his throat as he his cock pulsed and he came, deep inside Aziraphale. Aziraphale almost came himself, untouched at the sight and sound and feel of Anthony losing control above him. The man was so beautiful, his head thrown back, mouth open as he gasped out his pleasure, strands of his dark copper hair plastered to his brow. 

As the shivers of Anthony’s orgasm slowed and he caught his breath, he slowly, carefully withdrew his cock from Aziraphale’s body, and, still breathless, grinned down at Aziraphale with a wicked gleam in his amber eyes. Aziraphale’s cock was deep red and throbbing with his need for release. He was keeping a tight reign on his physical reactions, but having Anthony orgasm inside him, feeling the man’s slick spend inside his body was making it harder and harder to hold back. Anthony must have sensed that Aziraphle was seconds from exploding, for he reached down and wrapped a tight hand around Aziraphale’s cock at the base.

“Breathe” he said softly, but with authority “Breathe angel. Nice and deep and slow. Hold on for me just a little while longer.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, and the tight grip on his cock, combined with a few calming breaths, had him backing down from the brink. 

“Angel,” Anthony said carefully, still grinning wickedly at him. “I meant what I said about you coming in my mouth. But that doesn’t mean you have to hold on. If you come two seconds after I start sucking you, that would be astoundingly hot. I want you to know that, because I sense you’re on edge and I don’t want there to be any feelings of obligation here. Only pleasure.”

Aziraphale nodded, unable to speak, feeling cared for and loved and considered. His eyes drawn to Anthony’s expressive lips, already imagining them on his aching cock. He shivered from head to toe and took another deep breath.

Anthony, still kneeling between Aziraphale’s legs like a supplicant, leaned over and took the head of Aziraphale’s cock in his lips.

“Oh god Anthony!” Aziraphale couldn’t stand how good the hot wetness of Anthony’s mouth felt. “Oh fuck, take me all the way in. I want to feel all of you before I come.”

Anthony complied with a soft moan, sinking his mouth all the way down on Aziraphale’s cock to the hilt in one smooth motion. He was able to execute a few swift strokes with his mouth before it drove Aziraphale over the edge. Unable to hold on any longer, he arched his back and exploded, yelling Anthony’s name as he felt wave after wave of pleasure tighten and uncoil inside him. Anthony held onto his hips and took all he had to give, bobbing up and down on Aziraphale’s cock as he spilled repeatedly in the other man’s mouth. 

Aziraphale may have lost touch with reality for a moment. He came back down to earth in time to feel Anthony let him slip from between his lips and crawl up to snuggle against his side. He turned his head, lazily seeking the other man’s mouth, and they shared a long, slow kiss. Aziraphale thought the taste of his own semen in Anthony’s hot mouth was probably one of the most erotically satisfying things he’d ever experienced. He sighed happily and pulled the slender, copper haired man closer to him, turning on his side so they could press their fronts together and wrap their arms around one another. He felt full and happy, loose and warm and cared for, and he tingled all over. 

He longed to tell Anthony that he loved him. He felt the words battling to get their way out of his mouth and into the open air, but he still held back. It was more difficult than he thought it would be, to contain his confession, what with the other man smelling and feeling so very good, wrapped up naked in his arms. But fear still held him back. To say something so deep and so full of unspoken obligation at a time like this? It could ruin everything. It could pull the rug out from under this beautiful thing they were building together.

They slept then, and Aziraphale woke with a solitary stripe of early morning sunshine in his face from the split in the dark curtains over Anthony’s bedroom windows. For a moment, he didn’t remember where he was, but then, he felt Anthony’s warm, slender body under his hand and against his side and he remembered with a flush. He was with Anthony. In Anthony’s bed, covered pleasantly with a few choice types of Anthony’s DNA. Memories of the night before flooded into his mind, and he realized that he was erect and throbbing. Morning erections were a consistent thing with him. He sometimes took care of them, sometimes ignored them, depending on mood or schedule. He pressed this one against Anthony’s side and buried his face in that mess of copper hair and breathed in deeply. Anthony stirred, turning towards him with a large, sleepy grin. 

“Someone’s up,” he said, with a sly sparkle in his eyes. “It seems you have a situation there angel. Want some help taking care of it?” he stretched sleepily, all long arms and legs and moaned at the feel of it. 

Aziraphale thought he might have died in his sleep and surely this was heaven. Only he wasn’t certain he’d be allowed to shag incredibly sexy exotic dancers in heaven. “Yes. I rather do seem to have something of a situation here that needs handling.” Dear lord, his flirting skills definitely needed honing. Meanwhile, Anthony turned in his arms and pressed his firm buttocks up against Aziraphale’s straining cock.

“Maybe I could give you somewhere warm to put that beautiful cock of yours,” Anthony said, looking over his shoulder and pressing himself back into Aziraphale’s groin with deliberate purpose in a way that made Aziraphale moan. 

Eventually, Aziraphale found the lube, which was hiding under a pillow behind him, and slicked his fingers, then worked them slowly inside Anthony’s tight opening. He wasn’t entirely accustomed to being the one who did the penetrating, but he’d done it with Lucien on a couple of occasions when the man had been in the mood. Regardless of his relatively limited experience, he found the prospect of fucking Anthony incredibly exciting, felt the pull of it throbbing through him as he worked Anthony open slowly and deliberately. The actions of Aziraphale’s fingers soon had Anthony gasping and thrusting back against him, uttering a stream of filthy compliments and hoarse pleas, and Aziraphale quickly positioned himself at Anthony’s entrance and pressed in. It was indescribable, the tight grip, the heat. He fucked Anthony slowly and steadily, taking care of him in a deliberate, slow rhythm. He took the other man’s cock in his hand and stroked it, jerking him off as he thrust into him. They had almost simultaneous orgasms, Anthony coming with a yell just a few seconds before Aziraphale groaned out his own release. They ended up in a breathless, tingling heap, arms and legs intertwined. 

After a few moments spent reeling from an overdose of post coital brain chemicals and breathing in the delicious smell of Anthony’s hair, Aziraphale gently extricated himself and went in search of a towel. Anthony, his voice happy and slurred, directed him to the hall closet, and he returned with towel in hand to lovingly clean Anthony up. Then they both did get in the shower together. Aziraphale learned that being cold and soapy while a partner luxuriated under the hot spray of the water only happened when your partner was selfish and inconsiderate. Anthony had a large shower and he pulled them both under the hot water. Much fun was had, soaping each other up with reverent hands and much kissing transpired. By the time they were both clean and toweling themselves off, they’d devolved to kissing again, pressing their damp bodies together. 

“If these keeps up, I’ll never leave your flat” Aziraphale mumbled between kisses, marveling at how Anthony’s narrow waist felt gripped in his hands. 

“That’s fine by me,” Anthony replied, then turned a bright pink color and looked down at Aziraphale’s chest. 

“Don’t tempt me,” Aziraphale responded, lifting Anthony’s face up by the chin to capture his lips again. 

Still, he couldn’t stay here and make love to Anthony all day could he? Could he? No, no. He had the bookshop to open and tend to, Anathema to call and give details to. He had a large shipment of new books coming in today and nowhere to put them. Still…

“Do you work at the spa today?” he asked, leading a trail of soft kisses off of Anthony’s lips and across his cheek, heading for his ear. 

“I don’t,” Anthony replied, squeezing Aziraphale a little tighter. “Why do you ask?”

“Would you keep me company while I reshelve books at the shop?”

“No,” Anthony replied with a sigh and Aziraphale froze. Had he said something wrong?

“No?” he asked cautiously, hoping he hadn’t crossed some strange invisible boundary by asking.

“No.” Repeated Anthony. “But I’ll lounge about and try to seduce you while you reshelve books.” 

Aziraphale grinned and felt his face warm at the thought. “Well, that will certainly be a welcome, if counter productive activity,” he replied, then sucked Anthony’s earlobe into his mouth, delighting in the noises this produced from the red haired man in his arms. 

They dressed reluctantly, with many pauses for more snogging, and made their way out of the flat. Aziraphale agreed to let Anthony drive them over to the shop on the condition that Anthony drive like a normal person, and for the most part, he did. He only exceeded the speed limit by a slight margin and largely obeyed street signs and traffic signals. 

Soon, they were happily ensconced in the shop, Anthony with a cup of tea at his elbow while he lounged across Aziraphale’s ancient sofa, Aziraphale up and down a ladder while he found homes for the forty odd books that had just come in. Anthony made ribald jokes and commented on how nice Aziraphale’s arse looked while he was at the top of the ladder, but generally behaved himself. It felt good. It felt domestic. Aziraphale couldn’t remember being happier. 

They stopped for lunch when Anathema came barreling through the door with a takeout container of vegan chili. Aziraphale bustled off to make a pair of sandwiches for he and Anthony, and the three of them settled in to eat together, crouched around the coffee table in Aziraphale’s small sitting room at the back of the shop. 

“Glad to see you two spending time together” Anathema winked not-subtly at Aziraphale with a wicked grin. 

“Keep it in your pants, Ana,” Anthony said, reaching over to steal one of her crisps, getting his hand slapped for his trouble. “I’ll have you know, it’s really Aziraphale’s knowledge of ancient Sumerian history that keeps me coming around. Nothing to do with his handsome face or his smoking hot body.”

Aziraphale felt himself growing hot in the cheeks, and grinned like a fool, taking a bite of his sandwich to avoid having to respond. 

“Is that so?” Anathema shot a wry look at Anthony. “I always knew you were academically inclined. Nice to hear it has nothing to do with how attractive our friend is. All about ancient Sumeria right?”

“Right,” Anthony replied around a bite of turkey and cheese. 

They chatted amiably about this and that thing. Anathema peppered a few more sexual innuendos into the conversation, probably just to see the both of them turn pink and grin like fools. They hadn’t told her what had transpired between them last night (and this morning) but she seemed to know it anyway. Maybe it was written plainly across Aziraphale’s features? This insane happiness he felt. This glowing warmth. This urge to linger near Anthony, to touch him. Far from feeling tired out at their enthusiastic lovemaking and spotty sleep from the night before, Aziraphale felt enlivened, energized. He felt like he could climb a mountain and sing a song at the top of it, like Julie Andrews in that insipid musical everyone seemed so fond of. 

Eventually, Anathema left, with a flurry of winks and further innuendos, making Aziraphale promise to call her later, if he weren’t busy. He walked her to the door and received a warm hug and a whispered “I’m so proud of you sweetheart” in his ear, and then she was gone. 

He turned and saw Anthony standing there in the foyer, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking uncertain of what to do next, so he walked over and wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and claimed his lips in a warm kiss. Anthony returned the embrace and Aziraphale ended up needing to push Anthony gently away from him as the kiss deepened and their hands started to roam hungrily. “I need to finish with these books, dearest,” he said, apologetic and breathless at the same time. 

“How about you finish them up and close early?” Anthony suggested with a spark in his eyes. “Then you let me lay you down upstairs and kiss every inch of your body.”

Aziraphale felt his knees go weak. He nodded. “Yes. Alright,” he smiled and kissed Anthony again. He’d never in his life reshelved that many books in such a short period of time.


	11. Chapter 11

Anthony finally tried pulling himself out of Aziraphale’s bed. Aziraphale, his arms wrapped around Anthony’s waist, face buried in his side, was making this a pleasantly difficult task to accomplish. Anthony smiled and settled back into the man’s strong, warm arms for a few moments more. 

“I’ll be late for work,” he said, but his tone, soft and indulgent, conveyed something else, a desire to stay. 

“Quit your jobs,” Aziraphale mumbled against Anthony’s neck. “Stay here and make love to me for the next week. I’ll pay you handsomely for your troubles.”

“It’s me that should be paying you,” Anthony replied, pulling the other man’s thick body against his and sighing contentedly. He hadn’t predicted at almost 50 years of age that he’d be so relentlessly turned on by Aziraphale. They’d made love two more times during the night, and if Anthony stayed here much longer, he’d be tempted to go for three. Aziraphale was just so incredibly warm and sexy. So soft, yet so strong. How was he this strong from being a bookshop owner? He’d been able to easily hold and move Anthony’s body, to grip him with his thick, muscular hands. It made Anthony feel protected, and held down in a way he found thrilling. 

“Mmmm,” he hummed as he wriggled up against Aziraphale, wishing he really could call out of work. He could sense his body starting to react already to the other man’s nearness, and he could tell that if he stayed in this bed for more than thirty additional seconds, he’d try to start something up with this beautiful man again. He placed a kiss against the side of Aziraphale’s neck and reluctantly renewed his attempts to escape, and this time Aziraphale let him go. 

As Anthony rose and went in search of his several articles of swiftly discarded clothing from the night before, Aziraphale propped his head up on his palm and watched with sleepy, blue green eyes from where he lounged on the bed, a happy if slightly exhausted smile playing about on his face. Anthony was used to being watched. It was a part of his job at the club after all. To be ogled. Stared at. Gazed at. Desired. But there was a very different quality to it when Aziraphale did the watching. A fondness. A warmth that wasn’t there from patrons of the club who wanted to get inside his trousers. Aziraphale had already been inside his trousers, several times now, and the way he looked at Anthony betrayed a deep affection under the lust. 

It made Anthony uncomfortable, in the way that having everyone in a restaurant singing for one’s birthday, while being presented with a piece of cake with sparklers on would make one uncomfortable. There was an undercurrent inside him of you don’t deserve this. A feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. Anthony was used to good things going wrong. He’d slowly battled his way back from ruined drug addiction to having two thriving jobs and a good social network, and now, a gorgeous man who seemed to adore him. But he knew it could all go tits up at a moment’s notice. He could get caught dealing drugs. He could hurt his body by accident, which would effectively end both of his very physical jobs. Aziraphale could lose interest... He was startled to realize that he ranked Aziraphale losing interest in him as a far greater tragedy than breaking a limb or doing a stint in jail. He felt certain that if Aziraphale continued wanting to see him, visited him in the hospital, visited him in prison, he’d weather those things as if they were minor inconveniences. 

He was deeply in love. There was no denying it anymore. He could feel it whenever he looked into Aziraphale lovely face, or when he kissed Aziraphale’s soft lips. He could feel it coursing through him like swelling waves to the shore, this feeling of deep love and affection and passion for his beautiful angel. He was a wreck for Aziraphale. And yet, he just couldn’t seem to summon up the courage to say so. As if it would break the spell between them somehow. As if there were a thin, gossamer strand, like a spider’s web connecting them, and if he said how he truly felt, it would snap, and that connection would be lost.   
Part of him knew this had something to do with his childhood, raised by people who discouraged the showing of effusive affection. Part of it had to do with the trauma of the beating he’d received at the hands of three brutal strangers when they’d dragged him out of his car that one horrible night years ago. He still flinched when people made sudden movements near his face. Still had nightmares about fists and kicks coming at him out of the darkness. There were broken parts of him that he hadn’t yet found ways to put back together, and all of those cracked edges let his joy and confidence in how he felt leak out a bit at the edges. 

He thought that perhaps Aziraphale felt the same way. But even when he’d compiled a detailed list of evidence (Aziraphale’s eyes, luminous and full of passion, looking up at him when they made love. Aziraphale’s soft voice, telling him Yes my darling. Yes. Aziraphale’s arms trying to keep him in bed, preventing him from leaving), he still felt as if he might be imagining something. He realized, with a start while bending to find his socks, one of which had escaped under the bed, that he’d never been in love like this before in his life. 

His other partners were chosen specifically for being flashy, physically attractive, pliant and agreeable to his needs. They were chosen so that they didn’t challenge Anthony too much. And here was Aziraphale, who’d turned him down the first time he’d asked the man out. Aziraphale who didn’t have a mobile phone, who didn’t have a Facebook account. Aziraphale who preferred reading a nice book to frequenting a gay bar. He defied description and yet, there was something so familiar about him. Something akin to the sweet and earnest suitors in the period piece romance mini series his mother loved, (Emma, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice). Aziraphale was the shy yet determined suitor, waiting at Anthony’s door, hat in hand, book under his elbow, offering to read poetry to Anthony under a maple tree somewhere. Sweet and patient and hopelessly old fashioned, and Anthony loved it. So. Fucking. Much.

He’d never had anything this good and this pure in his life, and he was prepared to fight the forces of the universe and God herself to keep Aziraphale in his life, if that’s what it took. 

Eventually, he’d retrieved and put on his pants (with a soft, disappointed moan from the man on the bed), his trousers (more disappointed moaning), his shirt and both socks. His shoes were sitting by the door and he shuffled into them, bending to tie the laces, then stepped over to the bed to wish Aziraphale goodbye. He stopped momentarily, struck by the way Aziraphale looked. “Hold on a moment. Don’t move,” he said, fishing his mobile out of his back pocket. “You look so perfect, I want a picture.” 

Aziraphale froze, in the polite way people did when they were told their picture was about to be taken. He was lounging among a pile of white sheets, some of which had wound their way haphazardly around his middle and around one ankle. His broad chest and soft belly and strong, thick legs partially covered in snowy white. He lay on his side, as if lounging on a cloud, cheek propped up by his hand, his hair a wild and sex mussed halo about his head, white and gleaming. Anthony turned the mobile to a landscape orientation and snapped a perfect photo of his gorgeous angel. He planned on playing around with photo shop later and maybe placing Aziraphale on top of a real cloud, perhaps with a halo. Maybe he’d frame it and put it by his bedside. Dear lord, he was done for wasn’t he? 

He leaned over and kissed Aziraphale goodbye, pulling away prudently before the kiss could turn urgent. “Goodbye angel,” he said fondly.

“Goodbye darling. Will I see you later?” Aziraphale’s eyes grew so hopeful that Anthony felt his heart throb painfully inside his chest. 

“You can count on it, babe.” Anthony winked, playing the suave lover, keeping it cool, but internally, he was a throbbing, gooey, tingling mess. 

He made his way downstairs and out of the shop, into the early morning sunshine. It was 7AM on a Sunday, and he had a day shift at the spa that started at noon. Still, he needed to head home, water his plants, shower, answer calls and texts from anxious customers, looking for weed. He did a jogging delivery service around the city, picking up clients that lived close enough to him that he could put on a pair of running shoes and jog to their homes to deliver the the drugs. It kept him in shape and saved on petrol prices. Additionally, the police rarely looked twice at runners. Assuming that they were health conscious and law abiding. It was a stereotype that served him well. He only dealt to people he trusted. No strangers. No shady characters. No teenagers or underage clients. Everyone had to be vetted by a couple of trusted sources. 

He climbed into his car and sped off towards home, not noticing that a dark sedan had pulled out behind him and was following him, a few cars back.


	12. Chapter 12

Gabriel Archer wasn’t accustomed to not getting what he wanted. At least not as an adult. As a child and as a young teen, he’d been a gangly boy. Tall and slender and shy, he became the target of school bullies and was ignored by girls. He’d hit a growth spurt at fifteen that added several inches to his already impressive height (putting him at six feet, six inches) and bulked up significantly. Girls noticed him then. They started talking to him in the hallways, and asking if he were free to help them study later. He became popular so quickly, over the course of perhaps eight months, that his head was spinning with the sudden change. All it took was an additional thirty pounds of body mass and three inches of height and all of a sudden he had a girlfriend. A pretty blond who followed him around like a puppy, and the football team was after him to join up. 

He knew, deep down that these people who’d mocked him and kicked him, were begging for his attention simply because his outsides looked different. His insides were still the same, and he was terrified that someone would discover this and call him out as a fraud. And so, he started carefully curating his inner world. He worked to stop worrying, to stop thinking of himself as unworthy. He repeated mantras to himself in the mirror every morning _ You are worthy. You are strong. You are attractive. People like you. Girls want you. _

Slowly but surely, he felt the fear of discovery recede, to be replaced by a surety that he was popular, desired, sought after. He bought new clothes that conformed to the styles of other popular kids. He went to the places popular kids frequented. He cheated on his girlfriend with a cute brunette who threw herself at him after a football game one autumn evening. Then, all of a sudden, he had two women who wanted him. Two women who let him enjoy their bodies, who were calling him at all hours of the day, until his mother threatened to disconnect the phone. 

He always knew he was attracted to boys, but in the late 80s, when he was in highschool, admitting to being bisexual, an orientation most people refused to believe even existed… well it was social suicide. And so he kept his desires for men carefully hidden through highschool and part way into college. One night, at a raging keg party in the fraternity house he belonged to, a shy, very cute blond boy, had given him a smoldering look and Gabriel had ended up making out with him in a broom closet. The fear of discovery, mixed with the pure adrenaline from finally being able to experiment with another man, had him keyed up and extremely aroused. He came after only a few swift strokes from the young man’s fumbled hand down his pants. Afterwards, he’d coldly wished the boy goodbye, made him promise not to tell anyone and had crept from the broom closet and away to his room to change clothes, before returning to the party to try and score with a pretty redhead he’d spotted earlier in the night. 

The secret trysts with men continued through the rest of his college years, until he’d met Helen. She’d been the receptionist at the first ad agency he’d applied for, a gorgeous blond (he had a thing for blonds) with sharp blue eyes and a nearly perfect body. She was a bit shrill and shallow minded, but Gabriel didn’t care. He knew he needed a beautiful and devoted wife in order to be taken seriously in the business world. His bosses were all married and all extremely homophobic. Gay jokes got tossed around at company dinners, and events, it being the mid 90s. The push for political correctness and gay rights hadn’t soaked into the upper eshalons of corporate America yet, and Gabriel lived in fear that someone, some day would discover his dirty secret. That he was attracted to men. That he wanted to fuck men. That he could maybe fall in love with a man, if he met the right one. It was a secret he’d almost die to keep safe. 

And yet, he couldn’t keep his urges under wraps completely. He had a string of affairs with men throughout his thirties and forties, keeping a secret apartment where he could meet them, paying for it in cash so there was no paper trail. He knew the landlord and had connected him with some valuable legal help from one of his several incredibly fierce lawyer acquaintances, and the man could be trusted to keep his mouth shut. That or face public ruin through one of Gabriel’s many wealthy and influential connections. 

He honestly hadn’t expected to get involved with Aziraphale. He’d met the man when he and Helen had wandered into Aziraphale’s massive bookshop after they’d moved to London several years prior to pursue a promising new position for Gabriel in an up and coming international ad agency. They’d decided on a whim to investigate the bookshop while out shopping one day. Helen loved to shop, and she loved doing it with Gabriel’s money. Gabriel indulged her, hoping to keep her happy and pliant so she didn’t get suspicious or dissatisfied with their arrangement. He’d keep her in fancy clothes and sparkling jewelry with his cleverly thought up campaigns to sell watches and sports cars and men’s shaving cream, and she’d play the dutiful and doting wife. His beard. Only a beard he made love to once every few months so that she wouldn’t complain. 

As they’d wandered through the shelves upon shelves of books, marveling at the sheer profusion of volumes inside the shop, Gabriel had caught sight of a flash of light hair between the shelves.  _ Blond. _ He liked blonds. Rounding the corner with Helen, he’d at first been disappointed to see a plump man in outdated clothing, carefully shelving a book further down the aisle from them. The man looked stuffy and older, close to Gabriel’s age. Gabriel preferred his partners slender and younger than he was. It stoked his ego to be sucked off by beautiful young men. But as the man had smiled, a lovely smile really, and had come towards them offering his hand in welcome, Gabriel had picked up on something more. 

The man’s name, unbelievably, was Aziraphale. An old, angelic name given to him by religious parents, he explained. He was the shop owner, and he gladly lead the two American visitors around the place, showing them the different sections of history, fiction, geography, art, poetry. His delicate mannerisms and antiquated clothing, and the way his large, blue-green eyes flicked nervously to Gabriel’s face far more often than he spared glances to Helen’s made Gabriel suspect that the man might be interested. He filed this information away in his mind for later.

They’d wished the man a good day and had gone on about their walk, Helen stopping at every clothing shop and jewelry outlet and purveyor of high end purses she could find, Gabriel indulgently whipping out his credit card now and then. He didn’t love blowing thousands on Helen’s shopping addiction, but it helped to think of it as insurance. Keeping her happy and away from asking him questions about his life outside of their home. 

He’d returned to the shop later that week, had flirted shamelessly with the owner, making it quite clear that he was interested, and he’d been pleased when the man returned his flirtation with shy glances and compliments of his own. It hadn’t taken long to get Aziraphale to go out to dinner with him. He’d reassured the man that he and Helen had a don’t ask-don’t tell arrangement in their marriage that allowed him to date men, as long as he didn’t discuss the details with her. She preferred not to know. It was partially the truth. Except the part where he’d cleared it with her first. She really  _ wouldn’t _ want to know. She’d in fact be horrified to learn what he did in the evenings when he told her he was working late. 

That night, after feeding Aziraphale several martinis and snogging him soundly in the foyer of the bookshop, Aziraphale had drunkenly invited him upstairs and he’d gone willingly. The man’s body wasn’t quite his cup of tea. Too soft and too pudgy, but he had a beautiful face and a nice cock and he was oh so grateful for Gabriel’s attention. 

After a few more dates, Gabriel broke the news that Helen didn’t actually know about his trysts with men. He smoothed this over with a distraught Aziraphale by confessing love to him. He’d originally done it to keep Aziraphale quiet, to ease the clear discomfort the man felt over helping Gabriel cheat on his wife, but partway through telling Aziraphale he was falling in love with him, he realized it was true. He’d never been in love with any of his secret flings before, but there was something different about Aziraphale. Something quietly thrilling. Something sweet and kind. He supposed it might have had to do with how completely Aziraphale worshiped Gabriel. How the other man was so quick to pick up the phone when Gabriel called. How he wrote Gabriel charming little love notes and snatches of poetry and slipped them into the pockets of Gabriel’s blazers. Eventually, Gabriel got over Aziraphale’s fatness, his mid-forty-ness. He found himself getting really emotionally involved. 

This would never do. He couldn’t get so attached to someone he’d never be able to love in public. It would cause issues with his marriage, his standing in the community. After a few years spent shagging Aziraphale in a private apartment, or in his bookshop, a few years of getting drunk and making out in the back of taxi cabs and in dark allies, Gabriel decided it was time to end it. It would hurt, at least for a little while, but it was for the best. 

He’d been unprepared for the look of utter devastation that had swept across Aziraphale’s face when he’d told him they were over. It appeared the other man had felt very strongly about Gabriel, because he’d been extremely upset over the news that it had to end. He’d clung to Gabriel’s lapels, weeping, looking panicked. Gabriel had been shocked and a little scared by the force of Aziraphale’s emotions. He’d thought Aziraphale had felt the same way he did. Fond, but not too attached. In love, but not in that dramatic, Shakespearian way you always see in TV shows and movies. For Gabriel, emotional connections always had about them the feel of a business arrangement. His first high school girlfriends had been chosen because they’d make him look good. Same with Helen. His male partners had served his ego. Aziraphale had been the first relationship outside of his marriage where he’d invested emotions into it. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret at hurting Aziraphale so, but that pang lessened significantly when he saw Helen’s stern look that night when he returned home. 

“I don’t know what  _ project _ you’re on that keeps you at the office so late” she’d spat out in a harsh tone, a tone he’d learned to fear and loathe, “but I don’t like it. I want you home, having dinner with  _ me _ . Not with those coworkers of yours, those executives. I’m your  _ wife.  _ I deserve more.”

The threat in her voice was hard to miss. She knew that she made him look good. She probably even suspected that he was having affairs, (with women of course) but knew that if she dredged that subject up, it would mean an end to her shopping sprees and cruises to balmy island locations, and so she mostly kept her mouth shut. But his fixation with Aziraphale had caused him to be absent more than his other flings ever had. And it was showing. In the way her eyes grew suspicious when he said he’d be working late (again), or when he just had to run out to deliver some paperwork to a colleague across town. 

Gabriel secretly congratulated himself for ending it with Aziraphale when he did. He knew he was getting too engrossed, too involved. The man’s soft eyes, and skilled mouth were doing things to Gabriel that would threaten his marriage and his position in the community, and that was unthinkable. 

Gabriel lived in fear of returning to that dark time in grade school and high school. Of being bullied and beaten up. Of being mocked and humiliated, called “pussy” and “pansy” and worse, as if they knew what was inside him. He was terrified by the prospect of being a nobody, or a pariah. And shouting his love for Aziraphale (plump, old fashioned Aziraphale) from the rooftops would guarantee a one way ticket to divorce and social ostricization. At least from the people who mattered. He had no interest in the  _ gay community _ . He didn’t see himself as one of them. He was just a straight man who happened to enjoy the company of men. If he’d had his way, he’d have secret affairs for the rest of his life. 

And so, he’d re-devoted his energies back into his marriage. He’d still had affairs, but only with young and impressionable men. Men who could be bought, who were probably cheating on him in the same way he cheated on Helen. As long as it was containable and controlled, he’d be fine. 

And then, one day, several years later, Helen had found some compromising photos on his cell phone, and that had been that. She’d been less angry than he’d thought she’d be, and had settled relatively quickly for a generous amount of his money if she agreed to divorce him on the grounds of irreconcilable differences and agreed never to mention his  _ indiscretions _ to another living soul. She only ever really wanted his money, and so it was with mix of great relief, and more than a touch of bitter resentment, that he signed away a large chunk of his yearly earnings to her and washed his hands of the whole situation. 

After a few months, when he hadn’t seen any backlash from her, his in laws or his business associates, he’d started to relax. And as he relaxed, he found his mind drifting more and more to memories of Aziraphale. He couldn’t ever come out of the closet, and he knew this about himself. Yes, the workplace was now very gay friendly, with several gay and lesbian people in high ranking positions in his company. The older men who’d made crude jokes about “pillow biters” and “fairies” had all retired, and had been replaced by younger men in hoodies and jeans. Mark Zuckerburg types with forward thinking ideas. But still, unbelievably, being bisexual was far more difficult for people to grasp, and more uncomfortable for people to wrap their brains around. Even gay people made dismissive, derrogatory comments about bisexuals, calling them “greedy” or “indecisive”, or “just in the closet about being gay”. 

Gabriel was far too well respected, had far too entrenched a reputation as a butch married man to come out as bi in his daily life, but he felt less conflicted about keeping a dedicated boyfriend on the side. And he’d only ever really been in love with one man. A man with white-blond, candy floss hair and soft sea colored eyes. 

When he’d decided to treat himself to a massage the other day and had seen Aziraphale in the waiting room, it had been as if fate had intervened with a bolt from the Heavens. It was meant to be! How could he ignore a sign like this? His old lover, bumping into him out of the blue? And surely Aziraphale was available. Even if he were seeing someone, Gabriel was fairly certain he could talk Aziraphale into stepping out with him on the side. That had been how they’d met after all hadn’t it? 

And then he’d been introduced to Anthony. Sexy, trashy,  _ ridiculous  _ Anthony. The fly in the ointment. The wrench in the works. Anthony, with his showy tight pants and his long hair, looking like someone out of an outdated music video from the 90s. Anthony who apparently had Aziraphale by the dick. 

This wouldn’t do. Gabriel was not to be shown up by some has-been club kid. Some old queen who hid his crows feet behind dark glasses and tried to look deep by dressing in all black. How tasteless and low brow of Aziraphale, to hook up with someone as clearly strung out and used up as Anthony. 

Deep down though, Gabriel knew he was lying to himself. Putting unflattering adjectives to Anthony as if that would cancel out the fact that the man was extremely attractive. He hated how lanky and lithe Anthony was. How his dark copper hair looked when contrasted with his pale skin and unbelievable eyes. How good his hips and ass looked in those tight jeans. He was probably a fast talking lothario who’d tricked Aziraphale into a relationship with flashy talk and hot sex. Not a dedicated lover like Gabriel, who was swiftly hatching a plot to steal Aziraphale away and keep him for himself. To shower him with gifts and praise and well timed blow jobs until Aziraphale forgot all about Anthony The Ridiculous. Anthony the aging rock star. Anthony the  _ loser _ . 

Being rejected by Aziraphale the other night had hurt. He couldn’t lie. He’d honestly expected a much warmer reception, not the proverbial slap in the face of Aziraphale telling him no. Aziraphale had been so incredibly hung up on Gabriel when they were dating, he’d assumed that Aziraphale would come running back. But...Gabriel could be patient, bide his time. He could do his research. Find out more about this Anthony character. What he did in his off times. Maybe catch him cheating. Maybe find a way to knock him down a peg or two in Aziraphale’s eyes. Then take that information to Aziraphale under the guise of “wanting to talk” for the sake of “closure”. Or perhaps find a way to threaten Anthony? Blackmail him away from Aziraphale?   
  


It didn’t cross Gabriel’s mind that these plans were morally suspect or boundary violations or inappropriate in any way. Anthony was standing between Gabriel and what he wanted. And Gabriel Archer almost always got what he wanted. 

It was this motive, to dig up some dirt on Anthony, that had him camped outside Aziraphale’s bookshop Sunday morning. He’d been unable to find out Anthony’s address from the spa receptionist. Of course not. There were laws about confidentiality. But he  _ had _ made an appointment with the man for a few days from now. Just to keep it on the books. An in to see Anthony and rattle him a little. He’d decided to spend the early morning on Sunday waiting outside of the bookshop for Anthony to exit, based solely on the fact that 1. It was easier for Anthony to come to Aziraphale’s than to get Aziraphale to his own flat, and 2. Saturday nights were just common date nights. He had a good chance of learning something if he simply sat, a few parking spaces away from the shop and waited. 

He didn’t have to wait long, for after only an hour or so, Anthony came out of the front door, looking as if he was wearing last night’s clothes, a bounce in his step. Gabriel gritted his teeth at the sight of the slender, black clad man, who slipped behind the wheel of his nondescript compact car and squealed away at an alarming speed. Gabriel swore loudly and pulled out into traffic after him, which, was blessedly light on an early Sunday morning. 

It had taken some doing to keep up with the man’s insane driving, but he’d succeeded in following him to a posh looking flat in the Mayfair district. He’d waited another hour for Anthony to reappear. The man was back on the street in running shoes and a dark gray pair of sweat pants and a black sweatshirt. His hair tied back in that stupid bun at the back of his head. It was far more difficult to follow him by car, and Gabriel didn’t have running shoes on, but he did manage to shadow him for a few blocks, stopping a few yards from where Anthony disappeared into a dark doorway. He returned a few minutes later and started his jog again. 

A suspicion was starting to form in Gabriel’s mind. One that made his insides spark with glee. Could it be that Anthony was a drug dealer? What other reason would the man have for stopping his run every ten minutes to duck into someone’s house for five minutes and then back out again? His sweatshirt was large and baggy and could easily hide a fanny pack or belt of some kind that held drugs without being visible to prying eyes. Back in Manhattan, many enterprising cyclists made quite the living with weed delivery, in much the same way. 

After the third such stop along his jogging route, he began to suspect that the red haired man was indeed a drug dealer of some sort. This would be too easy. He could threaten to expose Anthony, or perhaps Aziraphale didn’t know about Antony’s little side job. The goody two-shoes could possibly reject Anthony over something as illicit as drug sales or drug use. The Aziraphale Gabriel had known years ago had been uptight and unused to anything new or sensational, having been raised by sheltering, religious parents. Honestly, it had been kind of hot, to debase him, make him beg for Gabriel’s mouth and cock. Like seducing a priest. 

Gabriel wasn’t done yet. He knew people. People who could find things out. He had Anthony’s name and address. Even using google, he could probably dig up some unfortunate information about the flashy idiot that would effectively end his connection to Aziraphale. Grinning, he turned around and headed back to his flat on the other end of town. 

  
  


_________________________________________________________

  
  


It took him a very short amount of time to find out through his connections to private investigators and high ranking IT professionals, that Anthony was a washed up ex ballet dancer. There were no criminal records, but… there  _ was _ a stint in a drug rehab facility from back in 2010. He found and watched the music videos Anthony had starred in, flinching at how attractive the man was, even in his silly get up, bike shorts and knee guards that for some reason had been so popular in the mid 90s. He looked at old ballet photos of Anthony, young and achingly beautiful, the lines of his long legs and arms poised in an impossible position, on stage in high end productions through the London School of Dance. The more he saw of Anthony, the more the man established himself as a high status rival. A force to be reckoned with. This man was no fling. No quick shag. He was talented. He was beautiful. 

Gabriel would have to utterly ruin him. 

It wasn’t until he found out about the exotic dancing that he felt a real flush of triumph. The man stripped for a living. He took his clothes off on stage like some common whore, and let strangers put pound notes in his underwear. It was lascivious and shameful and it knocked Anthony down a peg from an aging beauty to a washed up hack. It helped Gabriel feel superior again. Helped him stop the angry clenching of his gut when he looked at pictures of Anthony’s amber eyed, high cheek-boned face. A stripper. Aziraphale was dating a stripper who sold drugs. The whole set up was too perfect. One well placed phone call. One well worded email and he could pull the cornerstone out of Anthony’s happiness and watch as it crashed down around his ears. And then Aziraphale would be his. He could have Aziraphale back where he wanted him. Pliant, devoted, kept in a safe and cozy apartment near Gabriel’s official residence, waiting on Gabriel’s call. As it should be.

He wouldn’t do anything too drastic yet. He’d try threats first. He’d talk to Aziraphale and try to get him to see reason, then, failing that, he’d go after Anthony with the full arsenal of the connections at his disposal. Gabriel knew barristers and solicitors, detectives, computer hackers. He had a long and impressive list of people he’d befriended as the creative director of one of the world’s largest ad agencies. He’d collected these important connections for just such an occasion. Power was his way of protecting himself from ruin. From being knocked back down to the level of that lost, sniveling boy he’d been in 9th grade. And he planned to use that power to get what he wanted. Just like he’d always had. 

Grinning, he swiped open his cell phone and dialed Aziraphale’s number. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get kinda dark in this chapter, but have no fear! Piles of healing fluff are on their way!

Aziraphale was surprised to hear Gabriel’s voice on the other end of the line. He’d hoped it was Anthony calling when his phone rang a couple of hours after the man had left that morning. Instead, Gabriel’s deep, American accented voice came through the receiver into his ear, making his pulse race, and not in a good way. He’d told the man he wasn’t interested. Why was he getting another phone call? 

It turned out that Gabriel wanted to come over and chat. Just to get some closure. Aziraphale was apprehensive, but Gabriel sounded very earnest and respectful. Perhaps this would be good for the both of them? A way to clear the air and put the ghost of their relationship to rest. He told Gabriel that he’d be in the shop for the next few hours and that he was welcome to stop by. He prayed that Anthony wouldn’t come over unannounced and see Gabriel here again. Their connection still felt fragile, and he’d hate to spook the other man at this delicate juncture. 

In a startlingly short amount of time, Gabriel was at the door of the shop, striding in in his perfectly tailored suit jacket and slate gray trousers, his smile broad and white. He pulled Aziraphale into a tight embrace, and if he noticed Aziraphale stiffen in response, he showed no sign of it. 

“Hey Azi. It really has been so good to see you again,” he said warmly, holding Aziraphale at arms length by the shoulders, a look of glowing affection painted across his handsome features. Aziraphale returned his smile with a far smaller and cooler one of his own. He was getting swiftly uncomfortable with this situation. Gabriel’s careful, respectful tone when he’d been on the telephone had disappeared, to be replaced by flirtation and affection. Not a good sign. 

“Yes. It’s been nice,” he replied, keeping his responses carefully lukewarm, but not wanting to be rude either. They’d shared quite a bit, had been together for almost three years. That deserved a final conversation, a putting things to rest didn’t it? “Would you like some coffee? Some tea?” he gestured towards his small kitchenette at the back of the shop, but Gabriel shook his head. 

“No thanks Azi. I just had a few things to talk about you with. Can we sit?” 

Aziraphale nodded. “First, I’ll just lock up to give us some privacy yes?” Gabriel nodded and so Aziraphale swiftly went and turned the locks on the front door, turned the open side around to closed and pulled down the shades over the front windows. Then he led Gabriel to the well worn sofa at the back of his shop and the two men sat down. Az made sure Gabriel sat first so that he could sit farther away from the man, keeping a few feet between them in order to hammer home the platonic nature of this little chat. Unfortunately, Gabriel scooted closer to him anyway, so that their knees touched. Aziraphale moved his knee away immediately, shying from the other man’s touch, and noticed a brief shadow dance across Gabriel’s features in response. 

“Azi,” The man began “We had a good thing didn’t we?” 

Aziraphale felt his stomach clench with anxiety. This wasn’t about closure, he should have known better. Gabriel was here trying to get him back again. He took a moment to marvel at the 180 he’d done in regards to his feelings for the for the man beside him on the sofa. His charm now seemed smarmy, his affection insincere.. His heart had been utterly broken into a thousand pieces when Gabriel left him, eight years ago, and now, he just wanted the man to say what he needed to say and leave him alone.

“Yes. But that was a long time ago, and you ended it with me. Remember?” he said, keeping his voice level, carefully tamping down the feelings of apprehension and irritation that were now welling up inside him. 

“Yes. I did.” Gabriel glanced down at his hands, looking regretful. “I was a fool Azi. I didn’t realize how much you meant to me. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss you when I left.”. 

“It’s fine, Gabriel.” Aziraphale was anxious to reassure Gabriel that he didn’t need him any longer. That bygones were bygones. “I got over it. Everything’s fine now.”

“What if I told you that I didn’t get over it Azi?” Gabriel’s eyes when he lifted them to Aziraphale’s face again were soulful and regretful. But Aziraphale could finally see the theatrical nature of his remorse. It was an act. A carefully constructed ploy to wring sympathy and affection out of an ex lover. He wasn’t being genuine. Did the man actually have any real emotions? 

“Like I said, Gabriel. It’s all fine now. I’ve moved on. There really is nothing more to say.”

He was taken aback as Gabriel swiftly moved closer and clasped Aziraphale’s hands in his own. Aziraphale tried to jerk away, but Gabriel held his hands in a tight grip. Aziraphale’s instincts told him that to struggle could escalate the situation, and so he simply let his hands be held. But he kept his eyes trained on Gabriel’s left ear, away from making contact with those pleading eyes. 

“Come back to me,” Gabriel whispered, his voice rough and intense. “Come back to me. We can be good together again. I just know it.”

“Gabriel.. I… I can’t do that. I have someone in my life now. A partner. I’m not available any longer.”

“Come on now, Azi. I wasn’t technically available when we met eight years ago, was I? And we still had a great little thing together. Your boyfriend, Anthony is it? He doesn’t have to know. We could be very discreet. Come on,” he tried pulling Aziraphale closer with the grip he had on his hands, but Aziraphale resisted him. “It’ll be fun.” Gabriel winked at him solicitously. 

This had officially gone on too long. “I’m not interested Gabriel,” Aziraphale replied coldly, finding the courage to extricate his hands from Gabriel’s and move back a little on the sofa, away from the larger man. “I’m dedicated to Anthony, and I’m not available. I don’t love you any longer.”

He flinched when he saw Gabriel’s face darken at the rejection, and he belatedly regretted locking the shop doors, unsure of what Gabriel might be capable of. 

The scowl on Gabriel’s face deepened, and he stood up abruptly from the sofa, towering over Aziraphale who fought the urge to flinch, to cower away from his baleful face. 

“I see,” he said, his voice clipped and icy. “I see that your standards have dropped since we were together. I should have known better than to expect you to appreciate what I have to offer. You always were so provincial, so boring.”

“Come now, Gabriel. Don’t be like that,” Aziraphale rose to his feet, feeling fear and anger warring inside his gut as he took a couple of steps away from the man, putting space between them. “It’s been a long time. People change.”

“Yes, they do,” Gabriel snapped back. “Apparently, you’ve changed into the type of person who’ll settle for a trashy, washed up piece of ass like that stripper, drug dealer boyfriend of yours, rather than a successful man like myself.” 

Hearing Anthony maligned again by Gabriel was the last straw for Aziraphale. He felt anger win out in the battle of unpleasant emotions going on inside him, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re not successful, Gabriel,” he said, his voice blessedly steady, despite the adrenaline pumping through his system. “You’re a liar and a cheater and a classless hack. You think you can buy people, can intimidate them into serving your needs, but really, you’re just a frightened little boy. You’re not fit to shine Anthony’s shoes. He’s three times the man you are, and I love him, and I do not love you!” By the time this little speech was out of his mouth, he was trembling with rage. Still, it felt good, very good to say what he’d wanted to say.

His feeling of triumph lasted roughly three seconds until he saw Gabriel draw back and felt the sharp sting of the back of the man’s hand colliding with the side of his face. The force of Gabriel’s blow knocked him onto the sofa in a sprawl. He brought a protective arm up reflexively, half expecting more blows, but luckily, Gabriel didn’t come after him a second time. His cheek felt numb and hot. He’d never been struck this way before and he was stunned into shocked silence. 

Looking up, he saw a swift series of emotions flit across Gabriel’s features. Feral rage, followed by surprise, followed by panic. 

“Oh shit. Azi. Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that,” he stammered out, as if apologies would matter. As if anything Gabriel ever did again would allow Aziraphale to let him within a thousand kilometers of him. 

“Get out,” Aziraphale spat at him. “Get out of my shop this instant.” He levered himself awkwardly to his feet, his fingers still pressed against the sore spot, the spot where Gabriel’s hand would most certainly leave a mark against the pale skin next to his right eye. 

“Look. Azi, don’t tell anyone about this. Don’t make it into a big thing. It would ruin me.” Gabriel’s voice was pleading, fearful, but already tinged with an unspoken threat. Aziraphale brushed past him without responding and quickly unlocked the door to the shop, holding the door open wide and glaring at Gabriel, willing the man to leave. 

Gabriel advanced on Aziraphale again, and Aziraphale flinched away from him, then immediately hated himself for his cowardice. Gabriel didn’t hit him again though. Instead, he brought his face close to Aziraphale’s and said in a low voice, full of anger, “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll call the police on your little drug dealing boyfriend. He’ll be in jail so quickly your head will spin. I know people, Aziraphale. People who could make life very uncomfortable for you. Don’t think I won’t do it.”

Aziraphale carefully schooled his expression into a cold mask. “I said, get out.” he repeated, looking past Gabriel to the wall behind his head. 

Gabriel finally complied, walking stiffly out of the shop and onto the pavement. It wasn’t until Aziraphale had closed the door behind him and locked it again that he burst into tears. He felt his small well of courage leak away, to be replaced by great wracking sobs. He put his face into his hands, feeling the sting of the bruise above his eye and ignoring it as he wept out all the fear he’d felt building while Gabriel had been in his shop. 

What was he to do now? He couldn’t report Gabriel for attacking him, or the man would go after Anthony next. He didn’t even know if he wanted Anthony to know. What if Anthony thought dealing with Gabriel’s disruptive, horrible presence in Aziraphale’s life was a deal breaker? What if this drama, this whole terrible turn of events was simply too much for Anthony to deal with? He’d better hide his face from Anthony. Perhaps tell him he was sick. That he’d come down with the flu and couldn’t see him for a few days. He could close the shop for a while, lay low, and pray that Gabriel simply went away. 

He hated the idea of hiding from Anthony, but he couldn’t find the wherewithal to come up with a better plan. As if on cue, the phone on the shop desk began to ring out, loud and glaring in the silence after Gabriel’s departure. Aziraphale ignored it, climbed the stairs to his bedroom and lay down on his bed, eventually crying himself to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

Anthony was getting worried. He’d been trying to reach Aziraphale all day and was getting no response. He’d called a few too many times to maintain his own dignity, but, Aziraphle didn’t have an answerphone did he? If he were out for a walk, or taking a nap or something along those lines, he’d have no way of knowing Anthony had called him five times. 

At first, Anthony couldn’t imagine why Aziraphale would be home and wouldn’t pick up. It made no sense, and so it didn’t present itself as a possibility until it was five pm, and his shift at the spa had ended an hour before. Slowly, but surely, the idea that maybe Aziraphale was avoiding him began to creep with icy fingers through his brain. What could he have done wrong? Perhaps the picture he took of Aziraphale before leaving him this morning had been a bit too clingy? Perhaps he’d done something wrong when they’d made love? Aziraphale had seemed more than enthusiastic at the time, and yet, one never really knew, did one? 

By six o’clock, another thought had made its way into his mind. What if something had happened to Aziraphale? Perhaps he’d fallen off the ladder in his shop and had broken something. Perhaps he couldn’t make his way to the phone. 

That was it. He’d head over there straightway and make sure his angel was safe and sound. He couldn’t be faulted for being a bit worried could he? It had been several hours and several phone calls, and he’d gotten no response. He prayed it wouldn’t come off as too pushy or desperate to drive over to the shop without an invite, but damn it all, he needed to see Aziraphale, to reassure himself that everything was OK. This silence was a sharp departure from the Aziraphale he’d known before today. The man with the soft, affectionate voice who always answered his phone whenever he could, chirping a sweet “A. Z Fell and Co. Booksellers. How may I be of assistance?” as he did so. It melted Anthony’s heart to hear that cute greeting in Aziraphale’s proper little voice every time he called during business hours. And now? Nothing. Just the ring-ring of the line with no answer at all.

Anthony got in his car and drove swiftly (even for him) to the shop. He parked in the first spot he could find and rushed to the door, finding the closed sign displayed in the window, the shades pulled down. He felt a thrill of fear, despite the fact that Aziraphale often closed up at this time of night. It meant that he’d likely been home for at least the last two or three of Anthony’s calls. He found the doors locked and knocked politely. When this garnered no response, he knocked again, a little louder. Then louder still. “Aziraphale!” he called, his mouth as close to the crack in the door as he could get, hoping to project his voice into the shop so that Aziraphale could hear. “It’s me! Anthony! Open up!”

He jumped in surprise when a few seconds later, he heard Aziraphale’s muffled voice come through the door in response. The man must have been standing nearby when he’d called out. 

“Hello Anthony. So sorry. I have the flu. Don’t want to get you sick.” His voice sounded a bit rough and low. But something in the tone made Anthony press further. 

“Come on now. You won’t get me sick. I promise to keep my hands to myself. Just open the door so I can say a proper hello.” He heard the note of pleading in his own voice and mentally kicked himself over it. 

“Oh that wouldn’t be prudent dearest.” Was that fear Anthony detected beneath Aziraphale’s words? “I have unpleasant substances coming out of every orifice in my body. It’s simply horrifying. I’d hate myself if I got you sick. Don’t want to risk it you see.” 

Something in Aziraphale’s tone made Anthony doubt that he was telling the truth. He sounded unsettled. Shaken. Gone was the warm flirtation Anthony had grown accustomed to so quickly. 

“Oh. Well. If you insist” Anthony replied, crestfallen, wanting to tell Aziraphale that he’d gladly subject himself to the plague if it would get him a glimpse of his lover’s face right at this moment. Something about this whole situation felt off. “What can I get you? Soup? Medicine? Some take out? Whatever you need, angel.”

“Oh Anthony, thank you my darling. I don’t need anything. Just sleep.” There, there was a glimmer of the warmth Anthony was missing, underneath the stiff tone in Aziraphale’s muffled voice through the door. “I’ll call you later. Maybe a couple of days from now. Mind how you go!”

“Alright angel. Feel better soon.” Anthony reluctantly walked back to his car and got in, feeling unsettled and rejected for some nagging reason he couldn’t place. He drove home slower than usual, distracted and worried by the lack of connection. Even if Aziraphale  _ were _ sick, it felt strange that he’d refused to open the door. Maybe Anthony was simply being paranoid. He should back off and give Aziraphale space to just feel bad and heal on his own. Maybe check back in a couple of days.

He went home and showered, preparing to spend an evening watching some sappy movie on Netflix, maybe toke a little weed, try to relax and forget about Aziraphale not wanting to see him. He wished for probably the thousandth time since meeting the lovely, antiquated man, that he had convinced Aziraphale to purchase a mobile phone. If he had, he could be texting Aziraphale right now. Sending him supportive little messages and stupid stickers of sick puppy dogs with cartoon themometers in their mouths. He marveled at how thoughts of Aziraphale being sick caused strong urges inside Anthony to mother him. He longed to bring Aziraphale chicken broth and warm blankets, to spend far too much money on over the counter flu medicine, to maybe rub his feet or put a cold cloth to his brow. He silently admonished himself for being such a hopeless softy where the other man was concerned, and stalked off to water his plants. 

_______________________________________________________________

Two days later, he was beginning to twitch a little. His brain had started to fill in the silence with terrible thoughts. That Aziraphale had reconsidered this whole relationship thing. That Aziraphale had grown tired of him. That Aziraphale was intimidated or put off by his dancing or his sex jokes or his dirty talk in bed. Any number of things cropped up into Anthony’s mind as reasons Aziraphale could be done with him, could be second guessing their connection. He hated this habit of his, of filling in the gaps in communication with negative catastrophic imaginings. It came from having distant parents whose moods shifted unpredictably, leaving him to guess at their motives and desires. 

No phone calls for two days now. No visits. No touching, no kissing. Anthony felt the absence of Aziraphale’s touch like a physical pull. He had started vacillating back and forth between convincing himself that Aziraphale was actually quite ill and just needed time to sweat it out, and that Aziraphale wanted to break up with him, simply by disappearing without a word. 

He showed up for his shift at the spa that afternoon, a Wednesday, only to find his first client was a familiar, and completely unwelcome face.  _ Gabriel _ . Gabriel, looking strangely haunted and intense, was next in line to get a massage from him. He took the owner aside privately and asked if perhaps someone else could work on Gabriel, stating that he had some issues with the man, but the owner, Kathleen, had pleaded with him to take Gabriel as a client, saying that the man was very influential and she didn’t want to upset him or put him off. No one else was available right now, and he’d requested Anthony specifically. She promised he didn’t have to work on him a second time. Anthony very grudgingly agreed, and so he lead Gabriel back to the treatment room and closed the door behind them. 

“You can drop that scowl off your face, I didn’t come here for a massage,” Gabriel said, the instant they were alone. Anthony was a bit surprised at the sudden change in behavior. The man had been all stiff smiles and fake greetings out in the reception area, and now his face was blank and pale.

“OK then, why are you here?” Anthony was in no mood to deal with his new boyfriend’s smarmy ex lover today. Not in the state he was in. 

“Look,” Gabriel began, his manner turning surprisingly placating, his hands coming up between them in a protective stance. “By now you must know what happened between Azi and me, and I just want you to know that it wasn’t intentional. I only went over there to talk.” His tone changed abruptly, taking on an element of anger suddenly that had Anthony confused and concerned. “I only wanted to caution you against doing anything too rash. Telling anyone about it wouldn’t be a wise move to make.”

Anthony felt all the blood drain from his face and his heartbeat started to pound in his ears. “What are you talking about?” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “What did you do? What happened?”

Gabriel rallied quickly and even through his confusion and fear, Anthony could tell the man was a master manipulator. His tone became softer, his face carefully arranged itself into the approximation of a sincere smile. “It was nothing. We just had a little bit of a spat. I just came to tell you that Azi may be upset and may say some things, but before you act rashly, you really should consider all the factors.”

“What did you do to him?” Anthony was done with Gabriel’s innocent act. He was done with the man all together. He took a step closer, and Gabriel took a step back, probably seeing the dangerous look in Anthony’s eyes. 

“Nothing. Nothing. Just like I said, we had a spat. I just want you to know that I know all about you and your shady dealings and it wouldn’t be wise for you to react too strongly-”

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence because Anthony had crowded the taller, stronger man against the wall of the treatment room, getting up in his face, rage clouding his good sense as he forced down the urge to physically attack Gabriel. “If you’ve hurt him, if you’ve touched a single, fucking hair on his precious head, I will fucking  _ end you. _ ” Anthony growled out, not caring that it was probably a completely empty threat. That Gabriel could likely smash him to bits with his massive fists, his longer reach, his thicker musculature and taller stature. Still, Anthony had rage on his side. He had his mother’s Irish blood rushing through his veins and his father’s temper. He was a scrapper and he could do some damage before Gabriel got the drop on him. 

“Hey! Hey. Calm down.” Gabriel’s voice was hushed suddenly, embarrassed? Afraid? “We wouldn’t want to get you in trouble with your job now would we?”

“Fuck this job. Fuck your threats. Go ahead and do your worst” Anthony knew his mouth was writing checks he couldn’t cash and didn’t care. “I’ll repeat what I said, you pompous piece of shite. If you’ve harmed him, I will come  _ find you _ . You’d better stay far away from the both of us from now on if you know what’s good for you.” He finally stood back, wanting Gabriel out of his sight. Wanting to run to Aziraphale’s shop and find out what was really going on. “Get the fuck out of here before I do something that’ll get me fired. Something I’ll enjoy way too much.”

The look of surprise and the flicker of fear that flashed across Gabriel’s face was distantly satisfying. Luckily, Gabriel obeyed him and stalked out of the treatment room. Anthony followed him, grabbing his coat and bag of street clothes as he went. He stood by the door and made sure Gabriel was away down the street, watched the man get into his posh black car and drive off. 

“I’ve got to go.” he said to the receptionist. “Cancel my appointments. Or rebook them with another therapist. Family emergency.” Before the girl could respond, he was out of the spa like a shot and in his car, gunning the engine as he headed to Aziraphale’s shop. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank all of you for your comments! I haven't gone through and replied to every single one, but I love them all <3
> 
> Also, apparently, you can't just get married at home in the UK. I didn't look at UK marriage laws when writing this, so lets just pretend their marriage was legal, because in the US, you can get married anywhere, as long as you have the requisite paperwork before you do. I fully intended them to be married legally and I'm sticking to that plan! (thank you Lurlur for the tip!)

Aziraphale jumped when he heard the banging on the door and Anthony shouting his name.

“Angel! Let me in!” More hard knocking that shook the door frame. “Angel! Please! Come on! I know you’re not sick! Let me in!”

Not wanting to let Anthony continue to cause a scene, Aziraphale went to the door, unlocked it and pulled it open. As he did so, he stepped back, keeping the right side of his face, where a large bruise was forming, away from the door and the light from the streetlamps outside. He knew he couldn’t hide his face from Anthony for long, but he still felt shame and worry. Over what Anthony would think about Aziraphale’s taste in men. Maybe he’d think Aziraphale had welcomed Gabriel over for reasons other than the real ones. Maybe Anthony would think he’d been seeing Gabriel on the side. Perhaps Anthony would turn around and walk out when he saw the consequences of Aziraphale’s bad prior life decisions. His foolishness, of trusting Gabriel when he shouldn’t have.

Anthony of course, couldn’t be fooled for more than three seconds. He strode into the shop and shut the door, locking it again behind him before immediately gripping Aziraphale by the shoulders and turning him gently to face him, leaning in for a kiss hello. He froze however, mid lean, and Aziraphale watched, close up, as Anthony’s face morphed into a series of expressions Aziraphale had never seen before. Surprise gave way quickly to a shocked sort of recognition, which immediately changed into a cold eyed, thin mouthed rage, the likes of which made Aziraphale want to draw away from Anthony’s wide, staring eyes.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” he said, soft and low, and for a moment, Aziraphale couldn’t process Anthony’s words. He’d expected irritation, disappointment. The type of anger that contained a sullen sort of resignation as he realized Aziraphale was more trouble than he was worth. Not this fierce rage simmering beneath the surface of Anthony’s skin.

“What?” he asked foolishly, numbly.

“I’ll kill him,” Anthony repeated, bringing a gentle hand up to touch the puffy, yellow-brown stain of the bruise just to the side of Aziraphale’s right brow bone. “I’ll kill him. You have to tell me where he lives angel. I’ll fucking kill him.”

“Anthony, dearest. Please. Please, lets just stay calm.” Aziraphale was wound up tight with anxiety from Anthony’s surprising reaction to his black eye.

“I’m perfectly calm. Do I sound like I’m not calm?” Anthony’s voice was very soft and low now. He was almost whispering. His hands where they gripped Aziraphale’s shoulders were starting to hurt a little with the force of his grasp. Anthony seemed to realize this at almost the same time Aziraphale noticed it, and he relaxed his grip and stepped back, his chest heaving gently beneath his black spa shirt. His eyes were lit up like liquid, yellow-gold fire.

“It’s nothing,” Aziraphale tried placating him with cautious, tamping motions of his hands, tried to calm this man who was suddenly so full of cold rage. “Just a bump really. I said some very mean things, and he didn’t take it well. It’s barely anything.”

“Where does he live?” Anthony asked, almost conversationally, his casual tone betrayed by the twitch of his jaw muscle as he clenched his teeth. “Which street? You must have his address yes?”

“Anthony, perhaps a cup of te-”

“I don’t need tea angel”, Anthony cut him off, and began pacing. “I need you to tell me where Gabriel lives so that I can go _talk_ to him about this.”

“Anthony, I’m sorry. I should never have let him in.”

His words caused Anthony to abruptly cease his pacing and step back up to Aziraphale, gripping his face carefully in the fingers of both slender hands. He looked into Aziraphale’s eyes with an intensity that had Aziraphale’s heart racing. “This is not your fault, baby. You did nothing to bring this about, other than be your usual, beautiful self. He’s a narcissistic piece of shite, and you’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing.” He punctuated his words with gentle little shakes of Aziraphale’s face in his hands, as if wanting to drive the point home.

“Oh. Alright dearest.” Despite himself, Aziraphale felt relief that Anthony didn’t blame him for this situation. “I thought... I thought you’d, well, this is silly, but I thought you’d be mad at me.”

Anthony’s eyes went wide upon hearing this. “Mad at you?” he sounded confused. “Whatever for?”

“Well, for bringing this trouble into your life. He... he threatened me. Said if I told you or the police about this, he’d ruin you. Get you arrested for selling weed. I was terrified, and… and… it’s all because of me, because I dated him, because I agreed to let him come back… twice.” Aziraphale felt tears start to prickle at the corners of his eyes as he babbled out the anxiety that had ruled him for the past two days.

Anthony stopped his talking with a fierce kiss. He simply pulled Aziraphale in and pressed his lips intensely against Aziraphale’s, taking in a sharp breath through his nose as he did so, before pulling away quickly. It wasn’t a sexual kiss, or even a tender, romantic kiss. It felt like a reassurance. A statement of dedication. “Aziraphale. Angel. Please,” Anthony said, his eyes locked with Aziraphale’s in a way that made Aziraphale’s knees threaten to turn to jelly beneath him. “Why would you think I’d be mad at you because your ex went psycho and hit you? What kind of a boyfriend would I be if I blamed you for that arsehole’s behavior?”

_Boyfriend?_

“Boyfriend?” Aziraphale latched onto that one, beautiful, meaningful word. That possessive label that he’d been using inside his head to refer to Anthony for weeks now, from back before they’d even kissed. _Boyfriend_. Anthony had just referred to himself as his boyfriend. He felt his breath coming quicker.

Anthony turned from white to pink, ducking his head, clearly embarrassed. “Yeah. Um, Is that OK?” his voice was guarded, and Aziraphale worried that he crossed a line.

“Of course it is, darling. Of course” Aziraphale was quick to reassure him, placing a careful hand to his shoulder. “I wasn’t sure you... wanted that sort of thing with me, so I didn’t say it out loud, but it’s fine, more than fine really.” _It’s everything I’ve ever wanted in fact_ , he thought, keeping that part to himself.

“Oh shit,” Anthony swore, suddenly. “Oh shit,” he repeated. “I’ve been a fucking idiot. I’ve been a fool.”

“Don’t say that dearest. It’s fine. I’m fine. I.. I just… I thought maybe you might still be on the fence about us..” he waved a hand vaguely in the space between their chests, “about this,” he finished lamely.

“Angel,” this time, Anthony’s voice was oh so tender. So careful. He stepped up close to Aziraphale again and brought his hands up to hold Aziraphale gently by the neck, thumbs resting along Aziraphale’s jaw. “Angel, I… I fucking _love_ you. I am _in love with you_.” he said, his eyes glowing with unshed tears, searching Aziraphale’s face. “I’m so in love with you I can’t think straight,” he said.

Aziraphale felt tears springing to his own eyes. He hadn’t cried very much in twenty years, and now, several times inside of a week and a half. Something about Anthony’s presence in his life, opened him up and made him vulnerable. “Darling. Yes. I feel the same way,” he stammered, wrapping his arms around Anthony’s waist. If he didn’t kiss this man soon, and hard, he was going to fall apart at the seams. “I’m in love with you too dearest. I’m so in love with you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

Anthony shook his head gently, telling him without words that he had nothing to apologize for, and then his lips were against Aziraphale’s, he was in Azirpahale’s arms and they were kissing like only two people flooded with relief and full of love could kiss. The feel of Anthony’s mouth against his own, doing soft, slow, delicate things, made Aziraphale’s insides explode in tingles, twist with delicious fire. He pulled Anthony close, as if their bodies could melt into one another. As if he could somehow make their souls blend, could blur their separate edges.

Soon, Anthony had backed him against the wall of his foyer, up against a blessedly sturdy shelf of old Encyclopedia Brittanicas, and was pressing himself against Aziraphale in return, moaning softly as he drove his hands up into Aziraphale’s hair.

 _This_. This was what he’d wanted since the first moment he’d laid eyes on Anthony. This closeness. This heat. This feeling of belonging. He was overcome with gratitude that this beautiful, talented man loved him back. What had he done in his long, bookish life to deserve such a thrilling turn of events?

And then, as if hearing his internal question, Anthony began to speak, softly, in between kisses. Telling Aziraphale all the things he found beautiful and good about him.

“You’re so kind. You're so fucking kind. I could never be like that all the time. It would make my black heart seize up and stop beating.”

_And_

“You’re so very smart. All those books you read. I can’t tell you how sexy that is. To know you’d obliterate me in a duel of wits. Fuck that’s hot.”

_And_

“This hair, how did I not touch this hair the first night I met you? You’d have thought I was a creeper for sure. But it’s so beautiful. And those eyes. Your eyes kill me. You’re so painfully beautiful. I hope you know that angel. So fucking beautiful.”

Aziraphale could do nothing but cry and smile and kiss him back. He was too shy to say all those things to Anthony, though he felt them, and he knew the words were there, simmering under the surface. So instead he simply said the only thing he could.

“I love you,” he said it softly, sometimes over what Anthony was saying, sometimes in between kisses. “I love you. I love you my dearest. I love you my darling.”

__________________________________________________

They kissed and spoke softly to each other for what seemed like a long time, but could have been ten minutes. The passage of time had taken on a strange quality. Nothing mattered anymore, now that Anthony was in his arms and kissing him and taking him apart with his gentle, devastating words.

Eventually, Aziraphale pulled back and insisted that they retire upstairs, and they separated just long enough to ascend to the second floor, before falling into Aziraphale’s bed, clumsily shedding clothes as they went. Aziraphale needed to feel Anthony’s skin on his skin like he needed to feel the sun after a long, cold winter. He swiftly worked hungry hands up under the other man’s black work shirt to stroke his palms up the expanse of soft, oh so soft skin over Anthony’s ribs, causing the other man to groan at the feel of Aziraphale’s touch. Anthony meanwhile, was clumsily working at the buttons of Aziraphale’s shirt. He wasn’t having much luck, probably because he was far too engrossed in kissing Aziraphale to focus on the mechanics of unbuttoning anything. Aziraphale took pity on him and swiftly did the job himself, gasping as Anthony immediately reached inside the opening of his shirt and smoothed one hand around Azirpahale’s waist, leaving a trail of tingling fire in it's wake, and the other up around his shoulder to drive the fingers of that hand back into his hair.

They lay there, kissing, skating fingertips over each other’s skin, pulling each other close for a while. A sudden dark thought occurred to Aziraphale, and he couldn’t shake it. Not even Anthony’s warm mouth and body against his could quell his worries. “Dearest?” he broke away reluctantly from kissing Anthony and pulled back to look him in the eyes. “What if Gabriel makes good on his promise to turn you in to the police?”

“Simple really.” Anthony replied with a smile. “I’ll just stop selling weed.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale paused for a second. He hadn’t considered that as a possibility. “But what about-”

“The stuff I have currently? I’ll buy it from my connection and give it to my customers as a retirement gift. It’ll set me back a few hundred, but I don’t ever really have all that much lying around. I’m not some drug lord from a bad movie. And the bloke who supplies me is a neo hippie in Soho who wears birkenstocks. Not really the type to break my legs if I tell him I’m out of the business. It was just a small thing I did to make some extra spending money.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale repeated. “Well, that’s good then. I’d hate to think of you getting in trouble.”

“He has nothing on me. Without the drugs, all he can do is point out to my massage employers that I’m an exotic dancer. And they all know that already. They also know about my history with drugs. I’m clean now, aside from the occasional toke on a joint. I only keep the two businesses separate so that my clients won’t be put off. He didn’t think out this blackmail thing all that well. Perhaps,” he continued thoughtfully, “he could have caused a lot of trouble for a younger me. A me who stubbornly refused to stop dealing because I wanted the extra money. A me who would have been ashamed of his job dancing at the club and was easily manipulated. But I’m too old for that shit now.” He grinned a devilish grin, and Aziraphale marveled again at how handsome his boyfriend was.

“I’m ever so glad to hear you say that darling. I thought for sure he’d find a way to hurt you.”

Upon the mention of pain, Anthony’s face grew serious, and he reached up a tentative hand to place a feather-light touch against the bruise on Aziraphale’s face. “He hit you,” he said, unnecessarily, his voice going a little dark. “He hit my angel. I can’t let that go baby.”

“Yes, yes you can,” Aziraphale said, through the flush of warmth he felt over Anthony’s tender protectiveness. “There’s nothing to be done about it that won’t cause more trouble.”

Anthony looked sullen for a moment “I could kill him,” he offered, sounding determined “I’d make it look like an accident.”

Aziraphale, not completely sure that Anthony was joking, pulled the man closer and started kissing his neck. “My hero,” he mumbled into his kisses. “My dashing hero come to rescue me.” The words were heartfelt, and that’s how Aziraphale meant them, without a grain of sarcasm or irony. Anthony was his dashing hero. He’d come rushing to his aid the moment he suspected Aziraphale had been harmed. Aziraphale pulled back suddenly and looked into Anthony’s eyes again. “I’m so sorry I shut you out darling. I thought for sure you’d think I was more trouble than I was worth.”

Anthony’s face grew serious again, and he reached a hand up to press it against Aziraphale’s neck. “You’re worth any kind of trouble” he said solemnly, then leaned in and placed a soft, gentle kiss to Aziraphale’s lips, causing a thrilling bolt of lightning course through him from head to toe. It was continually surprising to Aziraphale how just the smallest touch from Anthony had him instantly aflame with desire. He opened his mouth, probing flirtatiously with his tongue against Anthony’s closed lips and then they were kissing deeply.

Soon, Anthony was sliding down the bed, lavishing Aziraphale’s skin with soft kisses, whispering praises and compliments as he worked his way south.

“My beautiful angel.”

“My gorgeous darling angel.”

“You have no idea what your body does to me. You drive me wild”

“This soft little tummy is so sexy”

“These thick legs. Fuck baby. These thighs. I want to build an altar to these sexy thighs.”

Aziraphale luxuriated under the onslaught of Anthony’s beautiful words and the electric feel of his velvet kisses. He’d never been with a lover who so clearly worshiped his body. It was healing and terrifying, had him vacillating between tears and giddy laughter. He twisted his fingers in Anthony’s flame colored hair and moaned softly as the other man slowly took him apart, piece by piece, word by word, kiss by kiss. When Anthony enveloped his cock in the tight, wet heat of his mouth, Aziraphale gasped “I love you!” and heard (and felt) Anthony moan against him and sink him in to the hilt.

“I love you so much,” he groaned out as Anthony began to move, to slide him in and out of that hot mouth. “I wanted you for so long,” he spoke through another gasp as Anthony increased his pace, grunting happily as he worked. “Your _mouth_. Oh god, Anthony darling. Your mouth.” He tightened his grip in Anthony’s hair and heard a ruined little noise escape Anthony’s throat.

“Do you like that darling?” he asked. “Do you want me to be rougher?” Anthony nodded swiftly around Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth, yellow-gold eyes gleaming up at Aziraphale under beautifully knit brows. His affirmation was as clear as day, and so Aziraphale tightened his grip in the other man’s silky hair and pulled his mouth down a bit onto his cock. Both men moaned in response. Once he knew what Anthony wanted, Aziraphale held his lover tight by the hair, close to the scalp, and fucked up into his mouth, watching in wonder as Anthony’s eyes rolled gently back into his head and he started grunting in pleasure with each thrust.

Anthony’s compliance and his beautiful, pleasure-filled submission to Aziraphale’s rough handling had Aziraphale teetering on the edge of orgasm far too quickly. He pulled Anthony up and off his cock, hearing the other man whine in disappointment.

“I’m too close darling. I’ll come if we keep this up.”

“I rather thought that was the idea” Anthony, breathless, cheeks flushed, lips bruised, amber eyes aflame, hanging from Aziraphale’s grip in his hair, was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Aziraphale had ever seen, and that included the rose window at Notre Dame.

“I want you up here with me. I want to kiss you when I come,” Aziraphale blushed, still unused to asking for what he desired. A small, insecure part of him always expected his lover to recoil or mock him. Anthony did neither. Instead he grinned wickedly and crawled up on top of Aziraphale, bringing their mouths together in a sloppy kiss. He ground his stiff erection against Aziraphale’s and moaned into the kiss.

“You have me so worked up from fucking my mouth like that. How do you want this? Tell me angel. Tell me what you want.” He was slow and languid with his words and movements. The serpent tattoo curling darkly up his arm as he propped himself up over Azirapahle and smiled down at him.

“I like you like this. On top of me” Aziraphale’s head was spinning. He cast a hand out to the side, seeking the bottle of lube and Anthony read his mind. Grinning, he grabbed for the bottle, which turned out to be wedged partially under Aziraphale’s pillow, and rolled to the side momentarily to dribble a generous portion up both of their lengths before capping it and tossing it away. And then, oh god, _then_ , he began to move against Aziraphale, sliding them together with a tingling friction that made Aziraphale ache inside.

“Is this good baby?” Anthony asked, his voice tight and rough, clearly excited by what he was doing atop Aziraphale. “Is this good for you?”

“Oh yes. _Yes,_ Darling, this feels very good. I won’t last long.”

“Me neither,” Anthony responded, thrusting against Aziraphale with deliberate precision, making sure his shaft glided against Aziraphale’s, just so, as Aziraphale canted his hips up against that slick friction.

He took Anthony’s face in his hands and kissed him, moaning his pleasure into Anthony’s mouth as Anthony hooked his hands under and around Aziraphale’s shoulders so that he could could anchor himself in order to thrust more surely against Aziraphale. Anthony sped up his movements, making little high pitched noises in his throat as his lovely hips worked them together. Aziraphale felt his orgasm approaching like a freight train, barrelling closer and closer. He whispered against Anthony’s lips.

“You feel so good darling. I’m going to come so hard with you moving like that. Oh fuck darling. Oh my dearest. Oh! _Oh!_ ” and then he felt himself explode, sealing his mouth with Anthony’s so that Anthony swallowed down his moans. He felt and heard Anthony coming with him, snapping his hips in swift thrusts as he jerked and spilled between them, moaning against Aziraphale’s mouth.

They stayed that way, letting the kiss carry them through their shared orgasm and out the other side. Eventually Anthony stilled the movement of his hips and just lay there, kissing Aziraphale lazily, sweetly, while they both caught their breath and came down from the high of their mutual climax.

Anthony broke the kiss first, looking down at Aziraphale with eyes full of love. “I’m so gone on you angel,” he said, kissing Aziraphale’s cheeks, his brow, his eyelids one at a time. “I’m so gone on you.”

Aziraphale rolled them over onto their sides, ignoring the very sticky state of their chests and bellies and held Anthony tightly against him. “I am too my darling. Head over heels.” He grinned into Anthony’s neck, then placed soft, tender kisses there. He felt safe and warm and happy and drifted off to sleep, wrapped in Anthony’s arms.

They both woke up some time later, groaning in dismay at the sticky mess that was now sort of gluing them together. Anthony gingerly disengaged from Aziraphale and they both crammed themselves into Aziraphale’s small, claw foot bathtub for a quick shower, accompanied by much petting and kissing. They ended up stroking each other off with soapy hands (“Have to take advantage of the soap and hot water, right angel?”), and were luckily able to clean up a second time before the water turned cold.

They crawled back into bed, it being past midnight at this point, and cuddled together under the covers. Aziraphale wrapped Anthony up in his arms and held him tight, reveling in the pure joy he felt just from the other man’s closeness. He’d never experienced love like this before. With someone who happily and completely returned his feelings. With someone who prioritized and found joy in his happiness. It was beyond wonderful. It was transcendent. He held Anthony tight and swore to himself never to let him go.

_________________________________________________________

Six months later, Aziraphale proposed. He would have done it sooner if he hadn’t thought it ridiculously too early to do so. Anathema went with him to pick out the ring, a circlet of obsidian, with a slender stripe of silver running down the center of it. He bought a simple gold ring for himself. No adornment. Nothing special. He was a traditionalist after all, but Anathema assured him that Anthony would be impressed by the black ring, and Aziraphale had to admit, It did suit his aesthetic.

He invited Anthony out to dinner at the Ritz. Anthony must have suspected something, because Aziraphale and he usually cooked at one of their places, or ordered take out. They were in that ravenous, delirious stage of their relationship, where dining in restaurants meant they couldn’t fall immediately into bed afterwards, and so they’d opted to keep their dates closer to home.

Aziraphale knew that it was early days. He knew that all couples were over the moon for each other this early on, but he also knew in his bones that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Anthony. They had endless conversations about all sorts of rambling topics, and kept finding new ways to delight each other, inside the bedroom and out. They’d even had a few spats, which were resolved using careful words and open communication. He felt confident that the relationship had a strong basis in far more than just sexual attraction. And frankly, he simply had to put a ring on Anthony’s finger. He needed this man to be bound to him as his husband. Needed it more than he’d needed anything. He wanted long, lazy Sunday afternoons spent reading with Anthony’s head in his lap on the sofa. Movie dates. Laundry. Grocery shopping. He even wanted the spats and fights. He wanted all of it, with Anthony, and he wanted to tell the whole world that he loved this man and wanted to be by his side for the rest of his days.

When they were seated, at a lovely table, by a window overlooking the park, Aziraphale ordered for both of them. He knew the kinds of things Anthony would like, and he wanted to spare no expense in making this a memorable meal. They spent an enjoyable hour or so eating succulent stuffed mushrooms and candied dates and roast duck so delicate that it almost melted in their mouths. Anthony kept grabbing Aziraphal’s hand under the table. He was always so affectionate, and Aziraphale soaked up the touch like a water starved plant. He gave back as good as he got, and Aziraphale was afraid they were shaping up to be that irritating couple who could never keep their hands off each other, but simultaneously couldn’t care enough to stop.

Eventually, when the plates were cleared away, and they were waiting for the check while nursing glasses of a very good white, Aziraphale casually placed the small, velvet box in front of Anthony when the man leaned down to get his dropped napkin. Anthony sat back upright and then, his eyes rested on the box, and his face went still. Aziraphale watched him with his heart in his throat. Anthony’s eyes (he kept his shades off more and more often now) flicked from the box to Aziraphale’s face, back to the box.

“Is this what I think it is?” he asked, his voice thick and low.

“Yes dearest it is.” Aziraphale placed a hand over Anthony’s, smiling through his sudden nerves. What if Anthony said no? The thought hadn’t occurred to him and he felt a sudden stab of fear lance through his gut. “I should have probably asked in a private place, but… well, I thought it would be more memorable here at the Ritz.” He let out a nervous giggle. “Marry me,” he said. “Marry me won’t you?” He picked up Anthony’s hand and brought it to his lips.

“Angel,” Anthony looked pale and Aziraphale could see that he was trembling. He took Aziraphale’s hands in both of his own and turned to face him. “Oh god angel, yes. Yes of course I’ll marry you.” As he said it, tears welled up in his eyes and tumbled down his cheeks. They kissed, and Anthony opened the box and cried harder when he saw the obsidian ring. “It’ll match all my clothes,” he said, laughing wetly through his tears and pulled Aziraphale toward him to place kiss after kiss to his lips and cheek. Some of the restaurant’s nearby patrons caught on that a proposal had just happened and burst into applause, and the server brought them complimentary champagne. Aziraphale’s heart was full to bursting and he couldn’t wipe the silly smile off his face until they returned home to Anthony’s flat and got him into bed.

_____________________________________

It was a lovely October wedding. Just a few days before Aziraphale’s birthday. He’d always adored the cooler weather and changing leaves of autumn. Anthony wore a black velvet suit, his hair pulled back into an intricate bun (thanks to Anathema’s clever skills at executing posh hairstyles), and Aziraphale wore a cream colored tuxedo, accompanied with a tartan bow tie. They invited their motley crew of friends. Anathema and Newt (serving as maid of honor and best man), the Youngs, several exotic dancers, several long time customers from Aziraphale’s shop. Anthony’s parents didn’t come, being that they disapproved of the marriage in general, and also because they were now in their 80s, but his sisters, their husbands and their combined five children were in attendance. Aziraphale was introduced to all of them and they greeted him kindly, receiving warm hugs from the sisters and their husbands.

Aziraphale’s parents as well would not attend. Anthony had held his hand as he’d called them, a few weeks prior to simultaneously come out of the closet to them, and invite them to his wedding. It was done more as a cathartic exercise than an actual attempt to make them accept him. He knew that if they were ever to even start to accept his orientation or his new husband, they’d need a long time to process and a lot of space. But it was a thing he’d been waiting forty-odd years to tell them, and it had to be said. Predictably, they’d been cold and hurt by his confession, had stiffly refused to come. After Aziraphale had rung off, Anthony pulled him into his arms and whispered soft condolences to him. Congratulating him on his courage and telling him he was loved so so much.

They held the ceremony at Anthony’s flat, which was spacious enough to accommodate everyone, and had a large kitchen that worked well for the catering company Aziraphale hired. Anthony pulled all of his plants out of the plant room and used them to create a makeshift bower, festooned with strings of white Christmas lights for he and Aziraphale to stand under while the minister, a striking trans woman with silver dreadlocks did the honors.

Afterwards, they drank and danced and laughed long into the night. Anthony kept calling Aziraphale’ “husband” at every possible opportunity.

“Husband? Would you pass me my wineglass? Thank you husband.” “Husband, I find myself in need of a kiss. I’d like to kiss my husband please.” “Would my beautiful husband like another drink?”

Aziraphale kept waiting to wake up and discover that it was all just a lovely dream. What had he ever done to earn such incandescent happiness? He wasn’t sure, and wasn’t sure he cared. He supposed the nagging feeling that he didn’t deserve Anthony would dissipate eventually. Or maybe it wouldn’t? Maybe feeling a little in awe of the fact that one’s partner is with one was a thing that kept a person deeply in love? Anthony walked past him on his way to the kitchen, and Aziraphale reached out and grabbed him, pulling him close.

“Hello husband,” he said, grinning at what was swiftly becoming a private joke. “How is my husband doing this evening?”

Instead of answering his question, Anthony simply smiled and kissed him. They kissed until Anathema came along and pulled Anthony away under the promise of tequila shots. Aziraphale watched him go, feeling his heart swell in his chest.

That night, after the last of the revelers, including a very drunk, horny Newt and a very drunk, horny Anathema had departed, they were alone in their wedding bed. They made love slowly, gently, taking the time to pull as much pleasure as possible from their bodies before pushing each other over the edge into orgasms that left them panting and boneless in each other’s arms. Anthony lay, curled around Aziraphale, face nuzzled firmly in Aziraphale’s neck as his fingers trailed absent, languid little patterns against Aziraphale’s chest. Aziraphale stroked Anthony’s copper hair, that had half come out of it’s intricate coiff during the course of their lovemaking.

“What would I have done if I’d never met you?” Aziraphale said, his voice leaking out of him like warm honey, his body tingling and loose. “What if I’d told Anathema that I’d rather not go to your club?”

“I’d have found you anyway angel,” Anthony mumbled sleepily against his neck. “Your light would have drawn me in somehow. Your halo.” And Aziraphale felt him smile into the warm place between his jaw and shoulder.

“Perhaps dearest. Perhaps. I’m ever so glad I said yes though.”

“Me too, baby. Me too.”

They honeymooned at a lovely cottage in the South Downs for a week. It had been an extravagant gesture on Aziraphale’s part, who wouldn’t accept any of Anthony’s money to help with the rent, but who gladly let Anthony purchase groceries and wine and help him cook.

“Who knew being a bookshop owner was so lucrative?” Anthony said, pulling Aziraphale to him while they waited for the pasta water to boil.

“It’s not the books I sell to the public that make the most money,” Aziraphale explained. “I also have international clients, collectors, who will pay quite a bit for rare first editions. And since I’ve relentlessly pursued the rarest first editions I could find for the past thirty years or so, well, I have something of a monopoly in the UK.” He then told Anthony how much he’d just sold Khalil Gibran’s 1923 first edition of The Prophet for, and Anthony almost spat out his wine.

“That’s it, angel. I’m a kept man from now on. I plan on quitting my jobs and becoming a devoted housewife.”

Aziraphale grinned and pulled him even closer. “I think you’d look darling in an apron dearest.”

“Ah, but instead of bringing you your pipe and slippers when you get home from work, I’ll get on my knees and suck your cock,” Anthony purred seductively, just before he placed a searing hot kiss to the front of Aziraphale’s neck, making Aziraphale breathless with want inside of five seconds. And so then, they had to turn off the water and put down their wine and go make love again.

After returning to London, there was the matter of where they’d both live. After some discussion, Aziraphale moved in with Anthony, hiring an assistant to help run the shop, renting out the small set of rooms upstairs with a decreased rate if the tennant would open up the shop in the mornings and keep an eye on things until Aziraphale arrived. He put an advert in the paper and it was answered by a grumpy person who called themselves Beezie. She was young-ish and had died black hair in an unruly mop and sleeves of tattoos, but she’d worked in her father’s bookshop for years, and knew a lot about the business. She needed a place to stay near the tattoo parlor where she worked and had plenty of time in the mornings to open up shop and make sure things were in order before being relieved by Aziraphale, who’d show up around 11. She had the added bonus of scaring away customers who weren’t dedicated to buying the books Aziraphale wanted them to buy with her scowl.

It was a good arrangement for the time being. Neither of them wanted to leave the city, and Anthony’s place was very spacious, in a nice neighborhood. It seemed a waste to buy something new. Aziraphale did insist on installing some new bookshelves and moving his favorites from his upstairs apartment into Anthony’s flat. He also insisted on cream colored curtains and a comfy, threadbare loveseat. He made pastries on weekends in Anthony’s kitchen and learned to cook passable chicken vindaloo. Anthony seemed perfectly happy to share his living space with Aziraphale. Aziraphale woke every morning to Anthony pressed against him, warm and horny. He went to bed every night, again wrapped in Anthony’s arms, usually after a session of love making that left them both a tangled, sweaty mess. They both had strong libedos, and had sex far more than Aziraphale had thought possible at his time of life. He was sure it would slack off as the years went by, but for the time being, they were both insatiable.

_________________________________________________________________

It was only a month or so later, while walking in the park that they spotted Gabriel. Aziraphale saw him first and gripped Anthony by the arm, dragging him behind a small group of trees to hide them both.

“Gabriel,” he whispered through clenched teeth, feeling his heart pound inside his chest, as unpleasant tingles made their way across his scalp. He’d almost forgotten the horrible man, what with the happiness and joy of their newlywed lives.

“Where?” Anthony, bless him, looked around very casually, trying to act as if nothing was wrong. He was wearing his sunglasses today, due to it being quite bright out and so Aziraphale couldn’t see the look in his eyes.

“Over there, on that bench, with that woman in the blue dress,” Aziraphale kept his eyes on Anthony’s face as the red haired man casually turned to look at the bench several yards from where they were standing, partially hidden by the small copse of trees.

“Oh. Yeah. There he is, the wanker.” Anthony’s posture was immediately on the defensive. “Lets go angel. We can just turn around and leave.”

“No.” Aziraphale stayed him with a hand to his arm. “No, I’m not running from that arsehole. He’s probably just as intimidated by us as we are by him, what with his fear of being outed.” Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. He wanted to give Gabriel something back for all the trouble he’d caused, and he thought he had the perfect thing in mind.

“Do you trust me darling?” he asked Anthony, who hadn’t stopped glaring at the large man on the bench.

“Of course,” Anthony turned his attention back to Aziraphale’s face, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Why?”

“Just come with me and follow my lead.” Aziraphale grinned at Anthony and took his hand, interlacing their fingers.

“You look like you’re about to cause some mischief. I like that,” Anthony responded as Aziraphale pulled him out from behind the trees and led him closer to where Gabriel was sitting next to his date.

Aziraphale appraised the situation as he and Anthony walked slowly closer to the pair. Gabriel’s date, yet another pretty blond woman, looking half Gabriel’s age, was talking animatedly about something, gesticulating with well manicured hands. Gabriel was half-listening while looking around the park, probably scoping out attractive strangers, while he hurmored his chatty companion. There were several shopping bags festooning the bench next to them and Aziraphale knew instantly that Gabriel had fallen back into his old patterns of behavior. Having a kept woman he could parade in front of colleagues and friends (if that pompous arse even had any genuine friends to speak of), while probably still seeing men on the side.

Aziraphale made sure to swing he and Anthony’s joined hands between them in a lazy, affectionate way and gave Anthony a saucy wink and a bright smile, telling him non verbally to act natural, to be affectionate. Anthony smiled back, clearly not sure what would happen next, but trusting Aziraphale as always.

As he grew closer, he pulled his new smartphone out of a pocket of his jacket. He’d finally caved under the constant insistence of Anthony and Anathema and had let them pick out the device for him, let them teach him how to use it. As they grew nearer, Aziraphale could see Gabriel’s eyes fall upon his face, could see the other man’s expression darken, his face going pale as he recognized the two of them. Not letting this slow him down or change his sunny expression, Aziraphale ignored Gabriel completely and addressed his date.

“Miss? Excuse me miss?” he asked gently. She looked up into his face and smiled politely, if uncertainly as he and Anthony, hands still clasped came to a halt a few feet away. Aziraphale knew that Gabriel had never told another living soul about him, or about Anthony, or about any of the horrible things he’d threatened them both with. He couldn’t. To do so would be to out himself. Just like he knew with utter certainty that Gabriel would not give away that he knew the both of them now. They had him in a very awkward social situation. One in which they had all the control and Gabriel had none.

“I’m terribly sorry to intrude miss, but would you please do my husband and I a favor and take our picture?” he said the word husband with just the barest emphasis. Easily missed by Gabriel’s lady friend, but likely very obvious to the man himself.

The woman’s face lit up. “Of course! Oh how lovely! Yes, of course I will,” she said with a large grin. Gabriel meanwhile was turning red, his eyes gleaming with suppressed rage at the happily grinning couple standing before him.

“Oh thank you dear!” Aziraphale exclaimed, hitting her with his brightest and most charming smile. “I know everyone is always taking those self pictures, but I want a proper picture of us, for the Facebooks.”

“Selfies,” corrected Anthony automatically. “Facebook, angel.” He grinned, catching on immediately to Aziraphale’s plan. “You are so charmingly old fashioned babe. It’s one of the things I love about you.” As he said this, he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and placed a big kiss to his cheek, squeezing him tight. Gabriel may have made a choking noise, but Aziraphale ignored it, turning his head to catch Anthony’s lips with an affectionate peck.

“Oh! Aren’t you two just darling!” Gabriel’s date cooed, her eyes going all dreamy. They couldn’t have gotten a better reaction had they paid her to play this role. “Of course I’ll take your picture. For the Facebooks.” She winked at Anthony, who slid his sunglasses up onto his forehead and winked back, really getting into the theatrics of this little scenario.

Aziraphale opened his photo app and handed the mobile to the young woman, and then he and Anthony draped themselves all over one another and smiled the happiest, most in-love smiles they could manage. “Oh my, what a beautiful couple you are!” The woman exclaimed as she raised the camera, finding a good angle to take the shot. Aziraphale very pointedly did not look at Gabriel as she took a few pictures.

“Ohhh! One more, but this time, of us kissing. Is that OK?” Anthony asked excitedly and Aziraphale had to suppress a joyful laugh. He could see Gabriel out of his peripheral vision, shift uncomfortably next to the blond woman on the bench. Good. He hoped he was feeling as socially uncomfortable and angry and ignored as possible right now.

Anthony turned to him and they kissed, keeping it closed mouthed and polite, but tender and affectionate, and the woman happily snapped a few more photos with Aziraphale’s mobile. After that, Aziraphale decided that this little game had gone on long enough. “Thank you so much dearheart.” He took his mobile phone back with another beatific smile and, wrapping his arm protectively around Anthony’s shoulders, he bid her good day and the two of them walked off.

They stopped however, a few yards away, when Anthony pulled him into his arms and snogged him enthusiastically. “Just in case he wants more of a show,” Anthony murmured against Aziraphale’s smiling lips when the kiss ended.

“You’re a demon, you are,” Aziraphale whispered, pulling him back in for another swift kiss before they continued walking, hand in hand away from where Gabriel and his bubbly blond girlfriend were sitting. She was speaking just loud enough for them to overhear her ask why Gabriel had “that look” on his face and ask him what had gotten into him.

“I’m a demon?” Anthony replied with a sly smirk. “You angel, thinking up with that little revenge idea? It’s becoming clear to me that you might be just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing.”

“And you dearest, deep down, you really are a good person.” Aziraphale knocked his shoulder against Anthony’s companionably as they continued along their walk. “I’m well aware that your bad boy routine is just an act.”

It was a beautiful day, and he had a beautiful husband and a beautiful life. He felt the last few vestiges of anxiety over seeing Gabriel again melt away in the warm grip of Anthony’s hand in his as they wandered off to go find someplace nice to eat.

Somewhere nearby, he could hear the sweet song of a bird, perched on one of the branches of the many shady trees that lined the walkway of the park. It’s song was light and lilting, joyful over simply being alive on a gorgeous day, the perfect soundtrack to Aziraphale’s own singing heart.


End file.
